Work, Work, Work

I knew this young bloke,

Who never once spoke.

But all he did was work.

 

He didn’t take breaks

For coffee or cakes.

But all he did was work.

 

He didn’t take leave.

‘I have work to achieve!’

Yes, all he did was work.

 

He never once slept,

But instead he just kept

On doing the same old work.

 

And after a while

He lost his smile,

As all he did was work.

 

His bum became stuck

To his chair (what bad luck!)

But all he did was work.

 

And where his seat ended

His butt sort of blended.

But still he did his work.

 

Then one day his rear

Seemed to quite disappear!

But all he did was work.

 

And his little-used legs

Became stiff wooden pegs.

As all he did was work.

 

Months later he said

(With a nod of his head)

‘I think I’ve finished my work’.

 

But he cried in despair

‘I’ve turned into my chair,

And all because of this work!’

 

Now on dark stormy nights

By the moon’s pale light,

They say that he still does his work.

 

And the chair-ghost types piles

Of irrelevant files,

And wails as it still does its work.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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2 Comments to “Work, Work, Work”

  1. I shall never do a stroke of work again……. Fantastic, scary, weird and wonderful !!. Bravo👏

  2. Thanks! It was inspired by something someone said on Twitter. Which I spend far too much time on.

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