Compulsive obsession

poem in rhyming quatrains

 

Compulsive Obsession

 

The miser sits and counts his gold

well wrapped in rags against the cold.

He has no fire he lacks the sense

He cannot bear to spend his pence.

 

He dines upon stale bread and cheese

sometimes porridge made from peas

to satisfy his appetite.

His bags of coin his one delight.

 

He has no friends he trusts no man

for they will rob him if they can.

He lives in abject poverty

 to spend a coin is misery.

 

I do not envy him his gold

a bitter man who’s heart is cold.

I share what little comes my way

 I cannot make my few pence stay.

 

But count my self a wealthy man

The miser save all that he can

and lives alone in misery.

I think that he should envy me.

 

8-Jun-08

 

http:// blog.myspace.com/poetic piers

Reviews

[Lena M. P.]

Very well written. It is a poor man who cannot share of himself.

[Berserker[Diktator Von ..]

Sounds like scrooge...great job with this piece...

[TL Boehm]

true words. Money is a servant, not the other way around.