The Men that Don't Fit In

The Men that Don't Fit In
by Robert W. Service

There's a race of men that don't fit in,
    A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
   And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
   And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
   And they don't know how to rest.

If they just went straight they might go far,
   They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
   And they want the strange and new.
They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
   What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
   Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs
   With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
   Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
   Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
   In the glare of the truth at last.

He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
   He has just done things by half.
Life's been a jolly good joke on him,
   And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
   He was never meant to win;
He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;
   He's a man who won't fit in.

New Job

Finished training today for my new job.  It's one of those jobs that people, at least outdoors people, seem to dream about.

I get to walk in the woods of Northern Minnesota all day and feed the mosquitoes, deer flies, and woods ticks.

In the last few days, I have walked in some of the finest Black Spruce Swamps and White Cedar Bogs. Getting to enjoy the Pitcher Plants, which are in bloom; the Yellow and Pink Lady Slippers; blueberries; Service Berries; various mushrooms, as well as wolves, and bears.

So I now work as a Contract Timber Cruiser. Life can not get much better.