RICH MAN <br /> <br />A rich man told me just before he died, <br />And I’ve no reason to think he lied, <br />Of ships he’d sailed the seven seas, <br />And flying fish on salty breeze, <br /> <br />To commoners he gave no tithe, <br />This world was his alone to scythe; <br />And scythe he did from dusk till dawn <br />His laborers broken, bent and torn; <br /> <br />With nose held high he tarried forth, <br />His countenance full of his self worth; <br />Then came the reaper to his deaths door <br />“I’ve come that I may settle the score” <br /> <br />And the reaper did of that I’m sure, <br />Ceasing his evil for ever more; <br />No more time for his lucre to swell, <br />For he dwells now alone in the depths of Hell <br /> <br />Alf Hutchison<br /><br />Alf Hutchison<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rich-man-2/
