It's been a month since Christmas.
Eleven months are left
Until the day will come again.
I'll likely be bereft
Of money then and easy time;
I think I'll have to work,
Although I don't rate as ready
To be a counting clerk
Or to answer phones for folks
Or to dictation take.
I show up lacking any skill
That can some money make.
So, soon, I'll put in for the jobs
I had when I was young--
But I am all uncertain
That they to me will come.
So, as I look towards the end
Of the year in which we are,
I find myself a-questioning
If I will get that far.
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