The Pitchman's Pit Poem by Gangadharan nair Pulingat..

A golden box that seized from a man
In the streets people seen him before
He was a street vendor, collector of old metal
There he wandered through villages
Throwaway prices he paid to women
The actual value hiding in mind
The actual metal contains in them
Profiteering made, and himself became wealthy
There came the case of old box in hand
It was kept in a village home
A hereditary asset ever kept as pride
The unknowing aged woman gave for an exchange
A small aluminium but new pot he gave
A pitchman's pit the people told.
In reality the box was made of pure gold
Covered with blackish color, fearing theft.