I saw five staunch men and two stout old men

All dressed in pure white silks

And holding baskets of banknotes,

Of cowries, of gold, of diamond,

And death knocking at their doors

Their breathing counting themselves from

Periods they’re they are to live;

Each second, removing itself;

Yet they know not whether faith

Can justify its strength

Of winning not dying…when and how?

Now that life lies, death lies and wealth lies

Life in light

Death in dark

Wealth in work

Can’t wealth a simple or complex lust be

So as to bargain for their living?

How much; and many can it be and do?

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