Of soul and dollar bills,
The account finds.
And all the time that fills
Those active minds.
Let slip work to grant more.
To engage with love’s play
The joy that is in store
With labor’s luscious day.
E’ry drop of clocks punched
Makes it harder for the finder to go.
Like money that is munched,
Devoured by minutes that seem slow.
Of soul and dollar bills,
There is a flowering stock or bond.
When cash just spills,
The earner’s smile is fond.
To take the shares
Means to admit what’s right.
The spirit still cares
And the debit card says good night.
About the Creator
Skyler Saunders
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