Rich Man

The rich man has his motor-car,
His country and his town estate.
He smokes a fifty-cent cigar
And jeers at Fate.

He frivols through the livelong day,
He knows not Poverty, her pinch.
His lot seems light, his heart seems gay;
He has a cinch.

Yet though my lamp burns low and dim,
Though I must slave for livelihood—
Think you that I would change with him?
You bet I would!

by Franklin Pierce Adams

Comments (2)

Oy Vay! You say things perfectly sometimes, Adrienne. The progression of 'noticing', ending with 'Jeffrey, who is a doctor', is matchlessly put.
Oh dear, this confirms what people out west have thought about the Big Apple mentality. And yet there are poets and song writers with great heart and soul (you, for instance) who come from that Big Apple and manage to rise above it. This is well done. Raynette