The subterranean treasure I have, is I.
But my poor neighbor is rich, too.
We each have extra to give, even if only a farthing.
Or a cent, nickel, or minute.
But I will let him step forward—first.
To shove a grimy hand deep into his filthy pocket
to empty his coffers, his watch,
while I am sterile and well-pressed,
and timeless and ticking.
I am a miser, and I fancy that.
I, I, I.
I am a miser.
Get it?
My money, my time, my treasure.
I, I, I.
I am buried in seedless ground.
At my pleasure.
Me, myself, and I.
Fallow.