A Sorry State Poem by shimon weinroth

on the tread mill of worry,
we walk on and on,
for miles and miles,
as the mill goes round and round

to sweat and itch,
shiver and shake,
fear and dread,

if all the worries,
were let out, upon the world
devils and harpies,
would fly away

worries multiply and replicate
shut out the ozone and suffocate
soon laid to rest in the grave yard
of worn out worries

tread with care,
the slightest stir
revives a host,
of others