My Managers in a sorry state he comes in early and goes home late
He works hard decision making worrying about the risks he’s taking, his hair is grey before its time he is for ever drinking wine over weight and over bearing bleary eyed and always swearing. He barks and shouts screams and yells he’s lost his mind can no one tell There he stands his eyes are staring We wait sometime nothing said He starts to speak then staggers back and hit’s the floor a mighty crack, someone shouts a nurse required oh never mind he has just expired.
Get a hearse arrange the cars we will send his body of to Mars Good friend gone people crying cant you see their lips are lying His time on earth is now over their he lies beneath the clover now who’s the one to start the race to be the one to take his place

The moral is to much work and not enough play will someday take your life away.

poem by Richard©2005-2006

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