Question to self:
What all would I do—
What all could I get done—
If I were the sort
Who found no necessary task distasteful,
And enjoyed them all enthusiastically?
In diligence, let me contrast the outcome of
But a single day’s work
In the charm of this imaginary enthusiasm
With the typical result of
A real-world day in my current, moody existence.
But alas!
I am worried with too much else to do,
And—to be dutifully honest—to put off,
To afford the luxury
Of thinking this through
In this present moment.
But I take solace in the notion that
Surely, a changed me
Will be well worth the effort,
Once I get around to it.
