along a brown dirt path free of leaves
well worn and travelled
many a vagabond straggler
and homeless waif
or ne'er do well
has walked before
into the valley
of not death but woe be me
I crawled at times
got weary wasted sore kneed
and thirsty
until sick sad and lonely
I bedded underneath
the nearest kind looking tree
for a bit of nap
and upon awakening
found my last ten cents was in
my pocket then
went missing
later I discovered I had fallen
blindly into dreaming
under what I call a money tree
which to my thoughts and reasoning meant
it was bountiful
and reaped great rewards for
the soul
to my surprise it means  it's limbs will reach
down
while you dream
finger your pocket and take
your last cent
then stand  there
bark brown still
and grin green or  russet red orange a grin
as you search for footsteps
and fingerprints