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?