Bright flashing gold and green hypnotic,
It’s plain this substance is narcotic.
Desire that we can’t ignore,
The more we have, the more we adore,
But just a little can make us crave,
Start an addiction, chain a slave.
The love of money is a vice of both the rich and poor;
No matter what we own, we always lust for more,
We don’t take just our daily bread;
We’re filling up with more instead.
Our store rooms fraught with glinting gold,
But come the morning we will find it’s mold.
Contentment doesn’t mean one has a lot;
But rather, one is pleased with what they’ve got.
No matter if the lot is small or big,
Greed is a grave all men can dig.