His Treasure
Fortune lies beneath a dead man’s hand,
A solid stack of gold, for he beholds,
Atop his treasure he will stand.
Peched yet wingless on a bed of string,
One eye on the rapture and one on the spring.
Awakened then in fright, his dreamless sleep brought back to light.
And shake shall he the hand of an eternal sought of moral sight.
Never without end to his passion and deserved delight.
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Author:
RSM (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 22nd, 2024 13:35
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 23
Offline)
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