Tuesday, October 11, 2022


 The Miser

To a certain extent

The miser is one to be pitied.

Grew up poor, never had any money

And now he doesn’t know 

What to do with his riches.

He puts it all in one place

And watches it.

The squalor of stacks of golden coins.

He doesn’t lend it or give any away

Nor does he spend it on himself.

Dresses in unfashionable rags

Disdains the pretensions of nobility

Luxury he abhors

He drives a used Ford

He hoards it for when he may need it

Remembering what it feels like to need.

The same could be said for the lonesome boy

Who grows up to find himself

Suddenly a man, bursting at the seam

With untapped reservoirs

Of unused love


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