Poetry Saturday—It Couldn’t Be Done

Edgar A. GuestSomebody 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 no ‘till he tried.
So he buckled right in with the 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.

Somebody scoffed: ‘Oh, you’ll never do that;
at least no one ever has done it;’
but he took off his coat and took off his hat
and the first thing he knew he’d begun it.
With the lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
without any doubting or quiddit,
he started to sing as he tackled the thing
that couldn’t be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
there are thousands to prophesy failure;
there are thousands to point out to you, one by one,
the dangers that wait to assail you.
But just buckle right in with a bit of a grin,
then take off your coat and go to it;
just start in to sing as you tackle the thing
that ‘cannot be done,’ and you’ll do it. —Edgar A. Guest

 

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