The rich say being poor is a terrible fate,
But the worst fate of all is dying rich–-
For while the poor waste nothing
The rich waste everything
And find it’s quite impossible
To bribe doormen and maitre d’s
At afterlives that don’t exist.
What can one see from luxury
But luxury or the lack of it;
What can one feel of comfort
When comfort is irrevocable;
How much life exists within
A life without struggle,
And how much follows it?