I find that I have quite a bit to do.
A single job is not seeing me through,
And I do not do well with only two,
But several work-lines I have cast out,
And some I work like seeking to land trout,
While others wait for fish to come about
And nibble on the bait that I have left.
Sometimes, with those, I've grow bereft
Of hooks whose baiting had all too much heft,
While others have seen their lines get snapped--
And, perhaps, I ought not to have napped
As I once did. But I now find I'm trapped.
No single job I have will see me through,
And I seem ugly to each passing crew.