Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/A Little More

​
A Little More.
(At Thirty.)
Five hundred dollars I have saved—
 A rather moderate store—
No matter: I shall be content
 When I've a little more.

(At Forty.)
Well, I can count ten thousand now—
 That's better than before;
And I may well be satisfied
 When I've a little more.

(At Fifty.)
Some fifty thousand—pretty well—
 But I have earned it sore;
However, I shall not complain
 When I've a little more.

​
(At Sixty.)
One hundred thousand—sick and old—
Ah! life is half a bore:
Yet I can be content to live
When I've a little more.

(At Seventy.)
He dies—and to his greedy heirs
He leaves a countless store;
His wealth has purchased him a tomb—
And very little more.

This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.