Phoebe Cary
Suppose, my little lady,
Your doll should break her head,
Could you make it whole by crying
Till your eyes and nose are red?
And would n’t it be pleasanter
To treat it as a joke;
And say you ’re glad “’T was Dolly’s
And not your head that broke?”
Suppose you ’re dressed for walking,
And the rain comes pouring down,
Will it clear off any sooner
Because you scold and frown?
And would n’t it be nicer
For you to smile than pout,
And so make sunshine in the house
When there is none without?
Suppose your task, my little man,
Is very hard to get,
Will it make it any easier
For you to sit and fret?
And would n’t it be wiser
Than waiting like a dunce,
To go to work in earnest
And learn the thing at once?
Suppose that some boys have a horse,
And some a coach and pair,
Will it tire you less while walking
To say, “It is n’t fair?”
And would n’t it be nobler
To keep your temper sweet,
And in your heart be thankful
You can walk upon your feet?
And suppose the world don’t please you,
Nor the way some people do,
Do you think the whole creation
Will be altered just for you?
And is n’t it, my boy or girl,
The wisest, bravest plan,
Whatever comes, or does n’t come,
To do the best you can?
Poetry Month: Day Twenty-Five
Today's poem, gleaned from my Poetry Foundation email archive, reminds us that worry gets you nowhere.
