The Myth Of The Moneyless Tree

There is a tree

It’s vast, you see

Growing money for you, not me.


Its leaves are golden

Its roots are olden

Branches stretch to eternity.


There is a tree

For you, not me

It offers shelter in a storm


Gather near

Be of good cheer

For we the ragged are not here

We are not here

Nowhere near


About Alice F Wickham

Chief bottle washer of New London Writers; would be ruler of the entire planet. (There would be far more trees, I promise you that!) Modest megalomaniac; thinker, dreamer, and milk chocolate eater. Co-creator of a brave new universe where poetry comes before profit, and you ALWAYS get a seat on the train.

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