Monday, December 16, 2013

A Poem from Robert Frost

It's the time of year when folks are counting up their savings, or getting their year-end bonuses, or checking on how their portfolios did over the last 12 months.  So today we present a poem about money, which sounds as if it were written by a demented version of Dr. Seuss.  Notice that it was published during the early years of the Great Depression.  (If you want to know more about Abishag, look up the first chapter of First Kings):

Provide, Provide (1934)

The witch that came (the withered hag)
To wash the steps with pail and rag
Was once the beauty Abishag.

The picture pride of Hollywood.
Too many fall from great and good
For you to doubt the likelihood.

Die early and avoid the fate.
Or if predestined to die late,
Make up your mind to die in state.

Make the whole stock exchange your own!
If need be occupy a throne,
Where nobody can call you crone.

Some have relied on what they knew,
Others on simply being true.
What worked for them might work for you.

No memory of having starred
Atones for later disregard
Or keeps the end from being hard.

Better to go down dignified
With boughten friendship at your side
Than none at all.  Provide, provide!

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