Money as you like it
In your bank or purse
If you put it that way
For better or for worse
Something you can count on
A hidden strength
To see you through
A form of quiet interest
Growing old stuff into new
Providing chancy options
You might seek to rearrange
Taking benefits from differences
By gaining much from change
Money is the backbone
Desiring faith in your belief
A means to measure valuables
When in need of some relief
Dancing by the bonfire, hot
Keep clear and not too near
The spectre of November nights
Sparkled party of the year
Heat the soup and mull the ale
Fire the sky with awe
Remember each November
That terrible night before
Spare a penny for the Guy
Whose night of massacre exposed
A brutal time of mass destruction
Self-righteous die-hards juxtaposed
When essentials are nowhere about
Vanishing at odd times, they do
Instinctively seeming to sneak off elsewhere
Inaccessible as if acting on cue
In our house, we have a provision
On hand to uncover our loss
Our materfamilias, Pauline
Locates rolling stones without moss
She can ferret each corner or rut
Analysing fragmentary facts
Like a ‘KC’ in court detection is sport
The ‘missing’ no chance to relax
Mislaying can frustrate one’s needs
Leaving losers no loose ends to share
With Pauline, we learn, no stone left to turn
Regains the misplaced from despair
Panic stations tremble by
City quivering fantasies
Shuddering and shouldering
Locked in wild conspiracies
Anticipations meaningless
Many places one could go
Another rampant Friday race
Wishing time was not so slow
Posters proudly brandishing
What any buyer might afford
Where disappointed money goes
A lawless case of no reward
