The Poor Rich Man

I last saw him I don’t know when,

Ten, twenty years ago, but then,

He was a rich man I remember for sure,

Charitable to all who came to his door,

He and his sister gave money to others, a lot,

I heard it from some how much they had got,

I thought he was so different from you and me,

On account he was posh and very wealthy,

When his sister died, he was left all alone,

No wife, no family, he was not one to moan,

But then he grew old, could no longer do a lot,

His house became shabby, with dirt and with rot,

Old age made it hard to care for himself too,

But he did not ask for the help he was due,

He was a rich man, used to giving to the other,

He spent years caring for his sister and mother,

He gave charity, but did not know how to take,

He was a rich man and his pride was at stake,

I am no longer sure how rich he had been,

No wife, no children, grandchildren I mean,

No family to look after him in his later years,

To love and watch over him, allay his fears,

If it is not money that makes you a rich man,

Can a rich person be poor, it seems that he can.

This entry was posted in Money, old age, Poem and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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