Won'T You Please Tell Me Poem by Samuel finley

Won't you please tell me naught have I to worry about;
this man thereat you work, he's not going to turn you somehow?
Won't you please tell me I'm only torturing myself,
that my anxiety couldn't be closer towards unsound?
Everyday, don't tell me I lose you a little more.
Alas! The next easily could be the last time I hit the morn!
Everyday-in fact-a sweet, minute infant is born
and everyday life is crimsoned and bitterly shorn.
Have my notions taken frivolous hue and form?
Won't you please tell me yet fruitlessly do I mourn?