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.
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