Money is real paper,
yet its more than paper,
without paper you are a pauper,
with more paper you matter.
Some have it more,
more than their wants,
some have it less
less then their needs.
In some hands its a treasure,
in others money looses measure.
Why its so strange?
None ever knows!
Money’s dicey game
for all we know.
Those who have more
have the world on their side.
Those who have none
have nothing to hide.
Some spend it on a trophy,
which they call philanthropy,
’tis the guilt of making more then they can offer
and shed the weight of their coffers.
Dollars and pounds
tougher than steel
the rupee and the rouble
are softer than veal.
In the end!
It doesn’t matter
he grave is the same
for all matter.