A hundred pounds I have saved,
A rather moderate store;
No matter I shall be content
When I have a little more.
Only 40 years old.
Well I can count five hundred now,
That's better than before;
And I may be satisfied
When I have a little more.
50 years old.
Some two thousand, pretty well,
But I have earned it sore;
However, I'll not complain,
When I have a little more.
60 years old.
Ten thousand - sick and old,
Ah! life is half a bore;
Yet I can be contented to live,
When I have a little more.
70 years old.
He dies, and to his greedy heirs,
He leaves a countless store.
His wealth has purchased him a tomb,
and very little more.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 6:17 PM UTC
A hundred pounds I have saved,
A rather moderate store;
No matter I shall be content
When I have a little more.
Only 40 years old.
Well I can count five hundred now,
That's better than before;
And I may be satisfied
When I have a little more.
50 years old.
Some two thousand, pretty well,
But I have earned it sore;
However, I'll not complain,
When I have a little more.
60 years old.
Ten thousand - sick and old,
Ah! life is half a bore;
Yet I can be contented to live,
When I have a little more.
70 years old.
He dies, and to his greedy heirs,
He leaves a countless store.
His wealth has purchased him a tomb,
and very little more.
A poem I found in an old cruise ship newspaper, sent in by an anonymous passenger.
Request permission to use this poem