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I know, my dear, I told you that I love you,
you hold my hand now, lucky me, as I lay dying,
the other one is in the grip of those who would lay claim
to having known my most elusive little secret.
I did conform, my dear, to all expected standards
your dad was adamant that money was the cure
of all the evils and the undecided matters
he threw it nilly-willy to the silly locusts.
And here I was, my dear, you looked like that great face
whose photo had been plastered on banknotes,
how can you blame me now in hindsight for the loss
I knew but nothing of investments and finances.
All I have left is what I see here on my pillow
a flabby body with no tits, but bushy hair,
I checked this morning with the banker and am sorry,
there has not been a resurrection there today.
So, if I told you that I loved you, I was drunk.
I cannot be the one that you desire now.
And if you weep to get your way with me I say
it's only money that will get adrenals going.
Can you imagine me, the wizard of the odds
make love to you if they have sent a note to you
that says dear customer, don't bother to come back?
So please forgive me if i take my mammoth asset
to other pastures where rewards are worth their time,
I wish you luck, however, and a Latin lover
one who has never known the platitudes of time.
Epilogue:
He did not die my friends, he went to his close neighbour
who held his hand and then decided all was safe.
They're still together after many moons of loving
she had no money but the balance was from heaven.
Herbert Nehrlich
Read poems about / on: money, sorry, loss, today, together, hair, heaven, time, friend
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