While you obsess over things not done,
A bird is waiting in the woods for you,
Rehearsing a song exactly to your taste
In the hope that someday you’ll wander by.
And while you worry about the future
And grind the gristful grudges of the past,
A patch of sunlight is opening wider
In a meadow you haven’t seen in years.
The world is profuse if your eyes are open;
The world is profuse if your eyes are not.
In the time it takes to tabulate your failures
You could have heard a joke, met a dog, fallen in love.
Don’t seize the day. That’s not what days are for.
Just let the day wash over you like rain,
And tumble into bed with skin still singing
The tune it learned from the falling cold.
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