Worry often gives a small thing a big shadow.
Will the train arrive on time or will
there be an accident, far up the line;
and all the other trains that follow still
have no place else to go? And will the wine
taste full and deep, instead of going bad,
like vinegar? And will the day pass by
without a glitch, without a hitch, no sad
or hurtful moments to recall, no why
or wherefore hanging in the air without
an answer close at hand? And will we hear
our crying child in sleep when nightmares shout
within her dreams, or will her youthful fears
grow larger than her soul can fend away,
to darkly color all her other days?