The Value Of Money Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

Once I was a multi millionaire it was shortly after the war ended
in 1945, when I found a bundle of German marks from 1914.
Think I found them on a shelf in an abandoned house used by
German officers, there was so many things they left behind like
gas masks and bikes and I learned to cycle on a pilfered bike,
it was black and had a Nazi symbol painted on its frame, but my
uncle Harold painted it over. I was lucky who found money, some
of the lads found live hand grenades and blew themselves up.

The winter of 1945 was cold and we often used my millions
to get the fire going in the morning and mother said we were
so rich we could afford to burn money. In the village where I live
there is only one rich person, he is a miser and live behind tall
walls, his car has dark windows, and I have never seen smoke
coming out of his chimney; ash of notes white as snow.