I DON'T believe in worry, and it's foolish to despair,
And dreading what may happen never lightens any care;
I believe in facing trouble, without fretting o'er the cost,
But it's altogether different when your little one is lost.
Oh, it's altogether different when you think she's gone astray,
When she's toddled from the doorway, and you cannot tell which way;
When you call and get no answer, and you call and call again
You are game, but still you worry—for it's mighty different then.
Then the sweat comes on your forehead, and your nerves begin to dance,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem