Green, valuable,
easy to waste,
hard to earn.
Need of the poor
who dare not hope for it
while the rich
don't know its real worth.
Money, a paper that tears
the brotherhood
each has a right to.
Money, the hope
to go on living,
this green ticket
not all want to share.
Money. Money. Money.
Just because I go on
wanting you
does not mean I am content
to go on needing you
until you kill me.
-p. 56 of Without Paradise: Poems by Richard Hoffman
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