The economy sucks; you’ve lost your job; the value of your investments has declined more than 50%; you’re no longer the richest guy in your neighborhood.
Well, if you think wealth is everything, this poem is for you:
Richard Cory
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him;
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
“Good-morning,” and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
2 responses so far ↓
1 Bruce // Mar 22, 2009 at 10:10 am
Rather has a dark end.
2 Peter // Mar 22, 2009 at 10:52 am
Bruce,
Yeah, that’s kinda the point I guess.
Sometimes the grass is greener on your own side of the fence.
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