The flying festoon

Oh I'm going to ride on The Flying Festoon -
I'll jump on his back and I'll whistle a tune,
And we'll fly to the outermost tip of the moon,
The Flying Festoon and I.

I'm taking a sandwich, and ball and a prune,
And we're leaving this evening precisely at noon,
For I'm going to fly with The Flying Festoon . . .
Just as soon as he learns how to fly.

This poem by Shel Silverstein reminds me of what I do at work, because of all the things I'm expected to do...
that I've never done before.