Sonnet

Fret not thyself.
And verily shalt thou be fed.
A minute after I read this I was fretting myself.
Our worries by others can never be read.

Outside a high plane passed quietly.
At thirty six thousand feet oblivious to us below.
A black bird sang softly, serenely.
All concerns were now laid low.

If only we could focus on this moment.
In this quiet country church.
If we want we can banish all torment.
We don’t need even to search.

I went back out into the open.
And the worries were duly set in motion.

Haiku

Why do we fret so
We stay not in this moment
What matters is here