In 2001 I wrote a book about teaching and I was pretty sure
My book would be hailed as a work of art, a great piece of literature.
At that time I was ecstatic. “I’m a writer!” I declared
I knew I wrote a bestseller...and I’d soon be a millionaire.
So I followed my progress on Amazon awaiting my ultimate fate.
But it seems my bestseller never got past number 900,998.
I never got discouraged, never whimpered, never whined
At least I was ahead of the person who wrote number 900,999.
It seems my first predictions in hindsight were to bold
And I would have to put my dreams of wealth and fame on hold.
In my defense I thought my book great insights would reveal
And naively thought a book about my life would have a broad appeal.
But fame can be a fleeting thing and in the end, in truth, who needs it!
Besides it’s not enough to write a book...but people have to read it.
Yet when I think about my life, there’s no reason for dismay
For I have many reasons to count my blessings every day.
I have a family whom I adore, and they seem to like me too
No matter what the world throws at us, we’ll help each other through.
I have friends, I have my health and life seems to be following some plan
You see, I may not be a famous writer, but I am a lucky man.
Sometimes I am overwhelmed at the riches that have come my way
It seems the most important book we write is the one we pen each day.