Work continues, as ever it must,
And the search that goes on for more work is just
Dragging and dragging, but at least I don't rust
In sitting and waiting, but forward move on.
My searching continues, and soon I'll be gone
From the place where I am--although I'm no swan
To emerge from a duckling; I'm too old for that.
There's a bit too much gray tucked up under my hat
When I wear one for me to claim a fledgling's fat--
What I carry around is from drinking my beer
In attempts I have made to be of good cheer--
And other assorted times throughout the year.
But though I'm no swan, I can still take new flight
And see if I can propel myself to a new height,
Seeking the dawn that will end this long night.