What shall fill the page this day?
Whether it be frivolous things
Or forged and tempered plans
Of how miscreants run shams
To fool even the mighty kings
Into giving which others wish:
Pay which keeps us in luxury.

We cannot scold those who scurry
Around the wealth of our kings,
For them, only jealousy drives,
And while blame we could, their lives,
Of Poverty, and the lack of gold rings;
That would be only purgory
For they are simply covetous:

Covetous of our kings might.
Dreams of forging a nation
They entertain; ambitious, yes,
But are not motivated, lest a mess
Be made for the covets' elation
In charge at such a height
The abuse would happily abound

As new pleasures they found
Yet never pleasure sycophants
For the greed, now fed, overwhelms
The simpletons whose realm
Never found wealth but in dance
Found real treasure, but in a pound
Of gold do their habits now live.

Things precious, and seductive,
Which before were denied from
Providence, now swell, and bloat
Our miscreants; wealth hath smote
Even those on high, and seldom
Do any escape its' clutches; captives
Of greed, their virtues become stale.

But even those on the bottom fail,
Fail to overcome their greed
Which consumes them even though
Theirs is a greed which is quite low
In contrast with their kings' lead
Whos' greed makes theirs' pale
But lo, either way, Greed has won out.