The Worth Of Miss Woodrow
A poem by R.A. Melos
The worth of Miss Woodrow was all in her mind,
She was a human of the extraordinary kind.
Her soul was barren, devoid of love,
For money, her heart beat, and there was nothing of which she was above.
"Money can buy happiness." She was oft heard to say,
And the way she lived her life, few would say nay.
She worshipped the paper idol, the silver and the gold,
The more foolish it seemed, as she began to grow old.
She had lived her life for money, and not for love,
She refused to learn the lessons sent from above.
"Money can buy happiness," she insisted til her dying day,
Now she lay in the ground, her body going to decay.
She lived her life for cold, heartless cash,
Her relatives had considered turning her to ash.
"I remember Miss Woodrow," from time to time someone would say,
"I think she passed away."
"Bummer," says the worm, "You wanna go eat? A greedy soul like hers should make
a grand feast."
The worth of Miss Woodrow was all in her mind.
copyright 2001