Sitting here, all alone.
Working hard, work is dull.
Editing, words once more,
Editing, sluggish bore.
Wasting time, days to nights.
Spending life in unseen sights.
Hidden from the eyes of world,
Secluding myself from every girl.
Not much chat, not much fun,
Just an endless of hum-drum.
What’s it for, the wasting toil,
What’s the booty of my spoil?
I’ll tell you it right here and now,
It’s for my book to soon be found.
It’s for a career in writing reads,
It’s because I caught the writer’s disease.
But I’ve had success, yes I have,
In a different career path.
And what I tell you, what I know,
Is work unnoticed will always show.
And if the prize at the end of your tunnel,
Is worth it all, is worth your struggle.
Then I ask you, worker’s fear,
What good would the prize be, if you didn’t persevere?
– Thomas M. Watt