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Title: The Price Of Riches
Author: Edgar A. Guest [
More Titles by Guest]
Nobody stops at the rich man's door to pass the time of day.
Nobody shouts a "hello!" to him in the good old-fashioned way.
Nobody comes to his porch at night and sits in that extra chair
And talks till it's time to go to bed. He's all by himself up there.
Nobody just happens in to call on the long, cold winter nights.
Nobody feels that he's welcome now, though the house is ablaze with lights.
And never an unexpected guest will tap at his massive door
And stay to tea as he used to do, for his neighborly days are o'er.
It's a distant life that the rich man leads and many an hour is glum,
For never the neighbors call on him save when they are asked to come.
At heart he is just as he used to be and he longs for his friends of old,
But they never will venture unbidden there. They're afraid of his wall of gold.
For silver and gold in a large amount there's a price that all men must pay,
And who will dwell in a rich man's house must live in a lonely way.
For once you have builded a fortune vast you will sigh for the friends you knew
But never they'll tap at your door again in the way that they used to do.
[The end]
Edgar A. Guest's poem: Price Of Riches
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