Tuesday, 10 April 2018
Crumbs of Comfort
How many crumbs of comfort - oaf!
Do men require to bake a loaf?
How many draughts of wine, my dear,
Will drown a fire and dry a tear?
For think of this - the rich can never know
Who loves them for their wit or for their gold;
And if men reap but what they sow,
Yet gold grows cold as bones grow old.
Keep friendships, then, in good repair,
We none of us have friends to spare -
And in the end,
Your one true friend
Is gold beyond compare.