A MISER'S NOT WISER
Grabbing hands seize greedily, much too much,
For such, is the maddening Midas touch
Of avarice: never satisfied nor fed
Enough to rest, nor pacified ‘till dead.
Men who crave all day to gain mere riches
Often fall prey to the wily snares of bitches.
So sad, is the life of a man pursuing wealth,
So bad, a certain plan to ruin precious health.
A kinder way, to set one’s mind at ease,
Is be poor and happy, then rest in peace.
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I follow and like your wonderful poems, so if this is a sonnet, I think a stanza is missing.
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