Why Must We Worry?

As the squirrel tucks itself into his nest, far in the leafy treetops, does he worry?
Does he worry if the sun will rise again?
And that it may not greet the world with a burning caress in the morning?
Nay, he closes his eyes to greet an unburdened sleep.

As the bird settles on a branch, with a worm clasped in her beak, does she worry?
Does she worry about what she shall eat after this meal?
And where she shall find food to feed her young tomorrow?
Nay, she enjoys the wriggling meal before her.

As the sunflowers begin to bloom, reaching with golden petals to the sky, do they worry?
Do they worry about the inevitable fall frosts?
And that it will become too cold to thrive?
Nay, they enjoy the pleasant warmth of the summer while it lasts.

As the raccoon races up a tree, safe from the braying hounds, does he worry?
Does he worry that the dogs may return?
Or that next time, they will catch him?
Nay, he congratulates himself on his good fortune and cunning.

Yet civilization, humanity and all its accomplishments, worries:
Of if the sun will rise, of food, of weather, of death.
But nature, in its wisdom, does not.
And so, I wonder, why must we?