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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=538352" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Money</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=538352" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">When I had money, money, O!<br>I knew no joy till I went poor;<br>For many a false man as a friend<br>Came knocking all day at my door.<br>Then felt I like a child that holds<br>A trumpet that he must not blow<br>Because a man is dead; I dared<br>Not speak to let this false world know.<br>Much have I thought of life, and seen<br>How poor men’s hearts are ever light;<br>And how their wives do hum like bees<br>About their work from morn till night.<br>So, when I hear these poor ones laugh,<br>And see the rich ones coldly frown—<br>Poor men, think I, need not go up<br>So much as rich men should come down.<br>When I had money, money, O!<br>My many friends proved all untrue;<br>But now I have no money, O!<br>My friends are real, though very few.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=William+Henry+Davies">William Henry Davies</a></strong></div>

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