You may labor your fill, friend of mine, if you will; <br />You may worry a bit, if you must; <br />You may treat your affairs as a series of cares, <br />You may live on a scrap and a crust; <br />But when the day's done, put it out of your head; <br />Don't take your troubles to bed. <br /> <br />You may batter your way through the thick of the fray, <br />You may sweat, you may swear, you may grunt; <br />You may be a jack-fool if you must, but this rule <br />Should ever be kept at the front: -- <br />Don't fight with your pillow, but lay down your head <br />And kick every worriment out of the bed. <br /> <br />That friend or that foe (which he is, I don't know), <br />Whose name we have spoken as Death, <br />Hovers close to your side, while you run or you ride, <br />And he envies the warmth of your breath; <br />But he turns him away, with a shake of his head, <br />When he finds that you don't take your troubles to bed.<br /><br />Edmund Vance Cooke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/don-t-take-your-troubles-to-bed/
