I aint got nothin buts worry on my mind.
Chiseled daily by they thought I wont ever know no better n they chickens peck’n at corn feed in they circles ’round they red barn out back– or, they cows slowly chew’n they cud in our fields in front…
but, I do knows that they be a whole other lifes of worry out yonder past they old country store. Sometimes I’s worry dat my chillen wonts ever be learned ’nuff to sign they names when growed.
I’s takes alls dat worry ‘n bakes bread wit it.
I’s puts all dat worry into they ground when I be plow’n ‘n when Spring come–
I gots wheat n’ corn from all dat worry’n.
I turns my worry into good.
N’sometime — sometime, I forgets to worry cuz I’s so tired dat worry gone melt into my pillow so int-aint worry no mores.
It be they start o’ a new day…
n’ dat worry out yonder is forgotten in they colors of wheat blow’n in they wind–
n’ hushed by they quiet in they stars at night.
Categories: Kristine Cosgrove