Harry the zoo hippochondriac was a wonderful pain in the butt. The zookeepers all sat and wondered what went on there inside of his nut. He never went out to enjoy the warm sun, and never would venture to swim, play, or run. He'd moan and he'd groan then flop hard in the hay, convinced some zoo patron had bubonic plague. When spring cottonwoods bloomed and sent tufts on the breeze, he was sure that pneumonia was what made him sneeze. Once a blob of dried mud stuck behind his left ear, convinced him he'd cancer and life's ending was near. He would bellow and blow that the flies overhead, Brought pestilence deadly sure to knock him down dead. Any kindly meant checkup by the resident vet, was surely an omen and for days he would fret. So through forty two years he would miserably wait, for the deathly bad illness that would seal his sad fate. 'Till age-ed and slowing he looked back on his days, and realized the joy he'd let pass on the way. Determined to master his time that remained, he rose and went out to soak up the sun's rays. Happy at last to be out in the sun, he started to trot then broke into a run. But his bones and his muscles had grown wasted and thin, his heart had grown weak and beat frailly within. The years of seclusion left him withered and sick, his irrational fears played a horrible trick. He collapsed in a heap landing hard on the ground, frantically looking at the scenes all around. Children were happy the birds singing songs, a light cooling breeze moved white clouds along. The pond's glistening waters were just out of reach, His cousins relaxing stretched out on the beach. He closed his weak eyes knowing now what he'd missed, by letting his worries hold his soul in their fists. His time wasted away life now left him behind, and passed on to others who could happiness find.