What can the rich know of hunger
Or the starved stark raving mad life
Pursued by those they call fortuneless -
Those who carry with them every penny of affection, rolling each coin along naked fingers, eyeing the emblem of trust engraved, the stubborn profile revealing merely one side of the man - will this one be kind to the touch
And once spent go farther than commercial advertisements could ever know, will the time spent be earned back by a truthsome look given freely and the admittance of wishing for more time with the other, more than the span of an hour within a night but wishing for a thousand nights further, mornings, afternoons, and twilights in between - serving only to waken and from the coins face glean that an hour has passed and while passing the mirror has changed its occupant: the trees outside have all turned green.