Dear Les,
Tis' a fool's gold I cherish
and wish to taste.
For its grasp I cannot hold
or I will benounced rotten with wickedness
and far too bold.
I bite my tongue in hungry anger
and as the blood drips from my mouth,
I become tired with pain.
And you so young try and rein.
But I’ll not allow the mistake to be made again,
so advice I linger on my lips for a friend.
To you I offer with feeble hands.
But be patient, do not demand;
for greed can spoil every man.
Value lies in Garden green manor....
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