I knew a man who went to work twelve hours every day.
His schedule called for eight, but he just couldn't stay away.
"The overtime," he claimed, "will give me plenty to invest,
Or take the kids vacationing some summer way out west.
"I'll even build a twelve-room mansion right beside the sea:
One bathroom each for every member of the family."
Years later, when I saw him, it was evidently clear
He'd sacrificed all promises to further his career.
His kids had aged, his wife had left, the lawn was overgrown;
He hadn't even noticed because he was never home.
Then, unexpectedly, one day his ticker finally went;
He died with bank accounts chock-full, but never spent a cent.
He'd lost his life and family, his stocks and bonds and all,
But still there hung a 'Salesman of the Year' plaque on the wall.
We shouldn't squint at life as all its images go by,
Nor hold it at arm's length to help avoid straining the eye.
We must try different spectacles, refracting what we see,
To find the best way to perceive the world for you and me.
If not, we'll stumble blindly with a blurried indecision,
Falling prey at every turn to our distorted vision.