It was the end of his journey,
Tired and weary was he.
‘Twas his legs that wouldn’t move,
He sat down by a tree.
Until now, he had pushed and rushed,
Through the milling crowd.
‘Twas survival of the fittest,
He’d bulldozed his way, he was proud.
Dollars he had made millions,
There was nothing that he lacked.
‘Twas Pounds (or kilograms?) he now lost,
He sold his Ferrari, and back-packed.
“I’ve wasted my life”, he said with spite
‘Tis time to “stand and stare”.
He wanted to ride a motor-bike,
Let the wind blow through his hair.
Only now, he was bald.
(Please readers, do let me know, what you made out of this..ahem…poem. Thanks!)