John F. McCullagh
Rumpelstiltskin's Revenge - Poem by John F. McCullagh
A worthless scrap of linen
On which Ben Franklin’s printed
Can buy you one tenth ounce of gold
An eagle freshly minted.
Our Quantitative Easing
Has made Rumpelstiltskin sore
Our turning paper into gold
Means there’s no need for straw
As far as barbarous relics go
Gold Eagles are quite nice
But as gold doesn’t grow on trees
They’ll have to raise the price.
Comments about Rumpelstiltskin's Revenge by John F. McCullagh
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye