Working to death

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He worked...worked...worked,
For himself, for the love of his work,
for what he thought was right;
Not for credit, not for recognition;
He did not get any anyway.

In the world's eyes he was slipping,
and slipping...and slipping;
Yet he did not really care,
For he knew he was in the right,
And the world knew it too...

He worked himself to death.
Was his death wasted?