Bright flashing gold and green hypnotic,

It’s plain this substance is narcotic.

  Desire that we can’t ignore,

The more we have, the more we adore,

But just a little can make us crave,

Start an addiction, chain a slave.

The love of money is a vice of both the rich and poor;

No matter what we own, we always lust for more,

We don’t take just our daily bread;

We’re filling up with more instead.

  Our store rooms fraught with glinting gold,

But come the morning we will find it’s mold.

Contentment doesn’t mean one has a lot;

But rather, one is pleased with what they’ve got.

No matter if the lot is small or big,

Greed is a grave all men can dig.