Each morning at six
Each morning, promptly at six, he went to his desk.
Every evening at eight
Every evening, precisely at eight, he stood, stretched and left for home.
Each day he spent fourteen hours hunched over his desk come what may
Each week he laboured obsessively on what had become his glorious tome
Each month his family had drifted further and further away
And every year he now spent less and less time at home.
Finally, with a great fanfare of publicity, his mighty tome was complete
So good, its sales soon rocketed to the highest mark
But of life and any kind of normality
There was now not the faintest spark.
So how does he gauge his success my friend?
Where do all his new found riches really go
Well his wife took his children to the other side of the world
He spends it on air fares as he now travels to and fro.
Time will tell if the tome is indeed to be a classic
Or if it is to be a seven week wonder.
But in that he lost his family to success
Well that my friend was his mighty blunder.
©Joe Wilson – A lesson in obsessiveness…2016