Of Our Riches Poem by James McLain

I would not of all of their scratched possessions worldly.
Though I grow copper thin when truth ingaged takes hold.
I do not do and do I do to you to do whom used.
And what of it became of your affluence.

Held tight to dear and dear to tight you hold my thoughts.
But no one single purple head that crowns the peaks.
Hearts that part and rain pours forth from this red flood.
Knowing naught the differentness,
and golden wealth of you stood fast because of me.

Your my other thought is then of this your ring a coin.
Which is pushed with each sharp stab so art is memory.
And as for me I must remain on this right side of death.
While new addition each sweet song are those to long.
Whip-poor-wills that sing at dusk our song is heard entirely.

It must be saved, it must be heard,
it must must be used for more than what I'm thinking.
And in proper rank and file each reed,
obtains the seed I came before and you became immortal.