Although your body’s getting old
And soon shall turn to ash,
You like to know the price of gold,
In which you’ve got some cash.
It’s not as if you crave the touch
Which eager Midas had
Or even covet wealth, as such;
It’s not as if you’re mad.
It’s nice to see, though, what you earn
Grow bigger by the day
Instead of letting prices burn
Through all your hard-earned pay.
And so you keep an eye on it
Although it matters not one bit.
Photo by Katie Harp on Unsplash
Gold
