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Today? Write a poem about money. I'm thinking something haiku-like. Brevity.
THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL PAYS THE RENT
i.
If money makes the world go around
are those with it
any happier than those without
ii.
What is enough? What number on which piece of paper,
figures in column generated elsewhere, which
pile of gold is the one that may be deemed enough?
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1 comment:
Necessary evil.
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