His pace was hectic, almost maniacal, in the relentless pursuit of riches. Caught in this trap the man was burning out rapidly, oblivious to the toll it was exacting from him.

There was someone who recognized the mounting pressure in him, telling him to slow down for goodness sake, but with the goal of 'making it' in this world the man continued in his foolishness.

Of course it all eventually caught up with him with the end result that the madness stopped him in his tracks. Collapsing in a tired heap he finally yielded to the mess of himself.

The phone rang shrilly next to him. It was his friend who had been warning him about this all along. "Come over," he said compassionately, "and bring no book, for this one day we'll give to idleness."

With a relieved sigh the man concurred.....

Ingrid's prompt for dVerse poets to write a 144 word prosery from Wordsworth's 'Lines Written at a small distance from my House...' which is included in the collection Lyrical Ballads, a groundbreaking poetic collaboration between Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge, published in several editions between 1798 and 1802. The 'Lines' of this poem are addressed to his sister, Dorothy, and the particular lines I [Ingrid] have picked out for you are these: "And bring no book, for this one day we'll give to idleness."

The link to dVerse is: Bring No Book

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