Before A Gripping Hand Can Affix To It Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

I was told as a child,
That money did not grow on trees.
And as soon as I accepted the concept,
Of earning it...
I don't have it in my pockets long enough,
To get familiar with its presence.

If someone was to attempt to pick my pockets,
I am sure they would ask for tips...
As to how I have managed to survive,
On a fixed income...
That comes to go before I am aware of it.
And I appear as if i am the 'king' of abundance.

It's like this...
If something comes to go,
Before a gripping hand can affix to it to identify...
It becomes like a memory embellished.
And as time moves on to go by,
That which is embellished becomes one's reality.