A Rich Man's Thoughts On Usury!

RICH MAN SAYS ....

A rich man once spoke up in his attempt to set me straight,
His thoughts upon his interest, he honestly did state:

"Because I have a million bucks, I sit upon my stern,
And leave my living tranquilly for other folks to earn,
For in some pro-creative way that isn't very clear,
A million bucks will breed a hundred thousand every year.
So as I have a healthy hate of economic strife,
I mean to stand aloof from it the balance of my life.
And yet, with sympathy, I see the grimy son of toil,
And heartily congratulate the tiller of the soil.
I like the miner in the mine, the sailor on the sea,
Because up to a hundred grand they sail and mine for me.
For me, their toil is taxed unto the annual extent,
According to the ancient law that gets me ten percent.
So get a million bucks, my friend, in any way you can,
And leave your future welfare to the noble Working Man.
He'll buy you suits of Harris tweed, an Airedale and a car,
Your golf clubs and your morning Times, your whiskey and cigar.
He'll cozily install you in a cottage by a stream,
With every modern comfort and a garden that's a dream.
Or if your tastes be urban, he'll provide you with a flat,
Secluded from the clamor of the proletariat.
With pictures, music, easy chairs, a table of good cheer,
A guy can manage nicely on a hundred grand a year.
And though around you painful signs of industry you view,
Why should you work when you can have your money work for you?
So I'll get down upon my knees and bless the Working Man,
Who offers me a life of ease through all my mortal span;
Whose loins are lean to make me fat, who slaves to keep me free,
Who dies before his prime to get me round the century.
Whose wife and children toil in turn until their strength is spent,
That I may live in idleness upon my ten percent.
And if at times they curse me, why should I feel any blame,
For in my place, I know that they would do the very same.
They talk of revolution on a Sunday afternoon,
But offer them a million bucks and see them change their tune.
So, I'll enjoy my dividends and live my life with zest,
And bless the mighty men who first invented interest."

NOTE: This poem is adapted from John C. Turmel's version of the original which was written anonymously by an Englishman in a previous century.

NOTE: Much more of John C. Turmel's poetry on banking at this website:

http://www.johnturmel.com/allpoems.txt