As a response to a creative prompt by Jani about air/breath, here's me versifying (not far off doggerel, but hey) about having, it must be said, too much to do at times...
Breathing Space (a busy person's lament)
Phone rings, email chimes,
So many people want my time,
"Knock-knock-knock" upon the door,
Letters asking me for more.
Students call, "Assignment's due,
My laptop broke, what shall I do?"
Essays land upon the mat
(Well, electronically in fact.)
And then in entomology,
Too many want my work for free,
"I found this bug, oh me, oh my,
Please will you identify?"
Charities and NGOs,
"Donate, please act, I don't suppose...?"
The issues matter, I say 'yes', but,
Just once could someone else step up?
Booking work for conservation,
Biffing fascists on the nose*
I do too much, I know it's true,
But then there is so much to do,
The world won't save itself you see,
Even if I hug a tree.
To work from home is mostly dandy,
(And my library's there, that's handy)
But if I'm ill or take a day,
'Asks' still come in anyway.
So I have to leave and wander,
In the fields and woods to ponder,
Creativities to come -
Daub the paint and beat the drum.
Fire the smithy, swing the hammer,
See the jeweller wield a camera,
Forging words I tell my tale
And then --- exhale...
* Figuratively of course...