A weapon for the wealthy kind
To rule the world by pocket might
A miserly soul’s day-long dream
To avoid squatting the road at night;
It’s the one thing that divides
Men of equal humanly birth,
Spoiling one in richesse
The other, in mortal dearth.
It’s the one big enemy of man,
And the one big friend of same,
It spurs forth the agile
And down treads the lame.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem