Bleeding Sons of Lucre
Happy Mother’s beam is the Bank;
We lean on cash, our Father’s flank.
In search of it others eschew grime
For easy “one” by committing crime.
(This is Poetry; this is not a Sermon
I’ll not recur on cursing mammon!)
Oily hands stretched for reception
To that you give without deception...
Is “clean” money not so “laundered”
That can be peacefully squandered!
31st Oct’ 2013