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