By Douglas Mallock
There may be nothing wrong with you,
The way you live, the work you do,
But I can very plainly see
Exactly what is wrong with me.
It isn’t that I’m indolent
Or dodging duty by intent;
I work as hard as anyone,
And yet I get so little done,
The morning goes, the noon is here,
Before I know. The night is near,
And all around me, I regret,
Are things I haven’t finished yet.
If I could just get organized!
I oftentimes have realized
Not all that matters is the man;
The man must also have a plan.
With you, there may be nothing wrong.
But here’s my trouble right along;
I do the things that don’t amount
To very much, of no account,
That really seems important though
And let a lot of matters go.
I nibble this, I nibble that,
But never finish what I’m at.
I work as hard as anyone does,
And yet, I get so little done,
I’d do so much you’d be surprised,
It I could just get organized!