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About Robert
Share a Poem
Poor Donald’s late for work again,
We wonder what is wrong with him –
For when, at last he gets to work
He looks so pale and grim.

His eyes are red, he didn’t shave –
And he can hardly walk –
His lips are swollen, that poor man –
Why, he can’t even talk.

He almost didn’t reach his desk –
He looks so weak and tired –
What happened to that man we knew –
Who we’d always admired?

Does he have a rare disease?
The ending of his life?
Or is the cause, perhaps, we think –
The passion of his wife?

He used to be the last to leave
The office every night,
But now he rushes out the door
While the day is still quite bright.

He rests each morning at his desk –
And when he wakes, it’s with a grin –
Looks at his watch, then smiles and
Wipes the spittle from his chin.

We asked him just the other day
Why he hurries out the door?
And I think I heard him say –
“it won’t be long till I get more.”

If this be true -  then we know why
Away from work he ran –
And we would gladly trade with him –
He’s such lucky man.

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