Cold Heir Poem by Ima Ryma

He, an adopted great grandson
Of the multi millionaire who
Founded Las Vegas just for fun.
He was an heir to that - who knew!
A penniless and homeless man,
He did not come in from the cold.
The winter chilled as nature can.
Lifeless he died, sixty years old,
Inheriting new fallen snow.
Was he spared the being rich pains?
Something he will not have to know.
Children, sledding, found his remains.

What might have been need not be said,
Because this homeless heir is dead.