Children of Fortune

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 I want not great fortune,

Nor riches bathed in gold.

There is no joy in coin,

Platinum nor silver.

For every fortune is

Steeped high in the smashed skulls

Of those poor dispossessed

Whom cruel Fate discarded

And cast beneath the heels

Of those who themselves call

The Children of Fortune.

Shine often carries mould

Which well with filth does join.

As a serpent´s slither,

Money doth corrupt this

And that, leaving but hulls

Of humanity´s best:

Its genius, frustrated;

Its compassion it kills…

Yea, wealth doth spell downfall.

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