The poor man walks,
And is happy with life.
The rich man stalks,
For he can’t even trust his wife.
A man with no home,
No family still alive,
Home is the place he roams,
His life is happier than mine.
A man with more possesions than soul,
His family he uses as a medal of pride.
Thinks that money will make him whole,
If I were him I wouldn’t still be alive.
The man of poor is as happy as can be,
He had nothing to his name and it doesn’t matter.
People who don’t know him are unable to see,
He walks away from fights and avoids all clatter.
The man made of money has nothing behind his words,
He’s as deep as a puddle and doen’t know it.
His perception on life is completely absurd,
He is intellegent, but only a little bit.
The poor guy really isn’t poor,
He’s more rich than anyone.
He loves everyone to the core,
Though he is really only equal to some.
The rich man is really poor.
He might be smart but not kind.
For deep inside he has no core,
Also unfortunately he’s very blind.
The guy of rich morals is intellegent,
On streets, with people, and in books.
Even if he is never able to make months rent,
He is aware there is more to people than their looks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good poem about the poverty of the rich. It always irks me when reporters go to places like South America and Africa and comment on how pitiful the poor people are there. Yes, it's a bad thing when people really do not have enough to eat, but just because someone does not have a Mercedes or an over-mortgaged, over-priced house does not imply that they are unhappy. Some of the most joyful people I've ever known didn't have much in the way of money; but lots in the good hearts category.