Fools Gold
I met a man the other day
With grey and mournful eyes
His parchment skin was wrinkled
And all his hair was white.
I asked of him why was he so
Why did he seem so frail
He looked at me with deadened sight
And it was then he told his tale.
I am, Sir, he said quiety
I am one of the undead
Who walk this earth continually
With slow and painful tread.
The problem, sir, he said to me
Was not valuing my life
Nor anything that came to me
I was not happy being alive.
I was not a poor man, not at all
He said this haltingly
But everything that I possessed
I clung to desperately.
I did not realise, he said
I had so much I did not need
And all those things I had to have
Were as fruit not grown with seed.
And then one day I saw a chance
To grow rich beyond my dreams
There was a risk in this, he said
But the gain so massive seemed.
Did I not think of others?
Did I not mind the hurt?
For every gain that I would make
Would magnify my worth.
I feely drank the Piper’s drinks
I could always hear his song
I did not weigh up what was right
Against what was clearly wrong.
I lied to those who loved me
I slept uneasy in my bed
But I was now successful
He quiet and proudly said.
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poem by David Keig
Added by Poetry Lover
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