poem

 The MiserTo a certain extentThe miser is one to be pitied.Grew up poor, never had any moneyAnd now he doesn ’t know What to do with his riches.He puts it all in one placeAnd watches it.The squalor ofstacks of golden coins.He doesn ’t lend it or give any awayNor does he spend it on himself.Dresses in unfashionable ragsDisdains the pretensions of nobilityLuxury he abhorsHe drives a used FordHe hoards it for when he may need itRemembering what it feels like to need.The same could be said for the lonesome boyWho grows up to find himselfSuddenly a man, bursting at the seamWith untapped reservoirsOf unused love10/11/22

Source: Buckeye Surgeon - October 11, 2022 Category: Surgery Authors: Jeffrey Parks MD FACS Source Type: blogs