We worry far too often
About climate change and such
About family, work, war and cash
We worry far too much.

Is it why we are put here
And is there a special plan
For us to tend the garden
For some coming omnipotent man?

There has to be a purpose
In our daily thrash around
Why we till and turn the same patch
of already seeded ground.

If only we could foster 
The sense to turn and play
And fight the over-riding drive
to meet our troubles halfway.

16th February 2014