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

Questions? Calder Wolfe
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