It Couldn’t Be Done

By Edgar A. Guest

Somebody said that it couldn’t be done,

But he with a chuckle replied

That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one

Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.

So he buckled right in with a trace of a grin,

On his face. If he worried, he hid it.

He started to sing as he tackled the thing

That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

Until next time. Stop and smell the roses.

Rosalinda, The Rose Lady

Rosalinda R Morgan