Ash Left of Cash

Adult spending like a lass, Hard-earned cash burning like gas: What is left of it mere ash; The once careful with cash rash: Was peace being some Trojan Horse For having not courted force? No voice had declared A Must And Kent fed self long starved lust... A long worshipped rope he'd gripped, Through fingers Good Wealth had slipped; Kent's Trojan Horse Madam Peace, For twelve straight might on lease... Kent, now the quite mesmerized, Has lost that he had memorized.