Posted by: Ron DuBour | November 1, 2016

What Will I Be?~by rldubour


 

 

What Will I Be?

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When I was only six years old, I asked myself what will I be?
Will I be a fireman? Will I be a cop?
Or will I be a janitor scrubbing floors with dirty mops?
Will I be an astronaut? Or a cowboy on a horse?
It really does not matter, for I am only six of course.
And when I was ten years old, I asked myself again.
What will I be said I? Here we go again!
Will I be a fireman? No, that’s too hot for me.
Will I be a cop? No, don’t like those sirens.
Will I be an astronaut? No, they go up to high.
And for as a cowboy too bumpy of a ride.
Now let me think again, what else was there to be?
Oh well, I guess I’ll have to wait, till there is a vacancy.

Now here I am again at the age of twelve.
I ask myself what will I be but my thoughts they seem to dwell.
Will I be the president? Will I be a lawyer?
Will I be a Sea Captain? Or perhaps another Sawyer.
Will I be a movie star? With my name in lights.
Or will I be a truck driver? And drive un-endless nights.
It really does not matter for it’s plain to see.
Whatever I am meant for than this is what I’ll be.
At the age of fifteen, I asked myself again.
What will I be said I? Oh my, here we go again.

Will I be the president? No, that is too hard to be.
Will I be a lawyer? No, too many books to read.
Don’t want to be no Sea Captain that is plain to see.
Now let me think what else is there to be?
Oh yes, a movie star, but those lights are much too bright.
And for as a truck driver, well, I need my sleep at night.
Now let me think again what else is there to be?
I guess I’ll just have to wait, till there is a vacancy.

At the age of sixteen my mind still unmade.
I asked myself what will I be? To pass the time away.
Will I be a singer? Will I be a writer?
Or will I be a scientist and make everything much lighter.
Will I be a millionaire? Or will I be a doctor?
It really does not matter, for it’s plain to see.
Whatever I am meant for than this is what I’ll be.
Now at the age of eighteen I asked myself again.
What will I be said I? Oh my, not this again.
Will I be a singer, No, my voice is much to rough.
Will I be a writer? Perhaps I am good enough.
Don’t want to be no scientist that is plain to see.
Now let me think, what else is there to be?
Oh yes, a millionaire, now that could be rather fun.
And for as a doctor, well, don’t know if that’s the one.
Guess I’ll have to think some more, nothing else to be.
Oh well, I guess that’s my life, as it faces me.

R.L. DuBour


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