From the golden glittering edge of breaking dawn,
to the golden glow left when the sun has gone,
I sometimes pause and linger in the realm of yawn,
where golden memories seem to go on and on.
The gilded ambition of youthful passion,
reaching upward towards castle's fashion.
With greed beckoning's and lurking's nigh,
cunningly directing path's bloody why?
Where the gilded lily seems more than the rose,
yet smells not as sweet, or so it goes.
Clawing and scratching with stilted prose,
success and fulfillment right in front of the nose.
Wildly digging for that golden nugget,
reaching for the low hanging fruit and pluck it.
The easiest way to reach the high pulpit,
shortcutting hard work in the rush to suck it.
What comes easily goes so as well,
we make our own heaven and our own hell.
Down to the pawnshop our gold to sell,
ashamed of our failure, no one we'll tell.
There is a silver lining to this golden tale,
a purpose why a porpoise is better than a whale.
Smaller is better when it comes to scale.
No one wins in a total wash sale.
So if you want to leave a legacy golden,
think small, not big with careful steps embolden,
write your legacy large and not beholden,
your riches in deeds and not in your foldin’.
Dedicated to Mr. Ed (Ed Kostro)
whose deeds outshine the golden sun.
Sunrise on Little Lake Mendota © Tim Hull
The glitter of gold is so enticing that