15 DEC 88
DEAD AT THE POT OF GOLD
There he is with his arms outreached,
dead at the pot of gold.
There he is with a half smile of joy on his face;
the other part grimacing,
in horror.
There he is with a fortune,
inches before him,
lifes riches.
There he goes with no money,
the inches might as well be miles,
Death's parody.
CALDER WOLFE