For Greed

Far into that ire sky rose

a suble glint

too quick deposed;

a mirror to what lies in throe.

yes, far beneath that acrid storm

lay jewlers' land,

blushing, warm.

But do not reach for riches low

for once one starts

he canot slow

And soon his head will dip below

and gone his breath; away it. Woe.


This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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