Over Worker (Sad/Thought) Poem by Poet of the River

Your vision starts to blur,
Your words start to slur,
You find your balance is off.
You refuse to sit,
You throw a fit,
Even while your dry burning throat makes you cough.
You can stand no more.
Your knees hit the floor.
Your breath is shallow and rasp.
You have over worked yourself,
You have damaged your health,
And it isn't the first or last.
The sun burns your skin,
Dizziness sets in,
Someone close yet sounding distant calls you crazy.
You collapse in the sun,
Your job done,
At least they can't call you lazy.