If I was a rich man,
I'd not know what to do,
Because I just can't understand,
The gold and silver hue.
The money is metered out,
Presently in a forthnightly dose,
But then I wander about,
And soon it be just a ghost.
But maybe a big healthy bundle,
Would get me back in line,
And I'd go aske Peter Cundell,
For the promising garden advice.
But this silly dream of mine,
Really is absurd,
For I may not have a dime,
But be wealthy in the word.
(c)R.H.Elliott 2005
amen
this poem makes me want to run around screaming over intercoms: "Would the owner of an ounce of dignity please contact the mall security?"