A Miser

The miser sits in a cold back room his door is locked as he counts his dirty money, His house breathes gloom and his family's unhappy but pretend to laugh and be merry, These gestures are not the sighs of true delight and behind closed doors they sob, They sob quietly in their neglected garden as it has been left unattended for so long. Once grew gay colored flowers and they towered over weeds and they were well tended, But now it is wrong, there may be smiles on little faces that have never known joy, There has never, nor will ever signs of true delight on red cheeks a child's right, No greater mistake by mortal man who dribbled at his wealth while his family starved. When bolted in his back room with his copper and silver mistresses he is a happy man, From behind the bolted door are roars of stupid laughter, gutter-ell laughter so lewd, Cant and hypocrisy make men gaunt and drawn fearing spending a penny for a birthday, Lust for money paints a mist of sorrow and time ploughs etched lines on foreheads.