Fragments Poem by Buxton Shippy

Sometimes a man's wealth is in his fragments:
He goes about searching for riches everyday
and missed it under his door mat.
...will even work two jobs, compromising his health.
Dies before his time so another gains
what he worked for.
A man void of faith and hope he did not pray.
He never knew he would withered;
he never knew he was mere mortal.

Now the scavengers are looming
above his exposed corps;
he will be consumed as an animal;
certainly, he lived as one.
How misleading self can be,
how transient mortals flee.
Without The Savior,
without The Redeemer,
this temporal life is all we see.