THE MONEY GAME

Keeping In Touch

In tinkling coins and folding bills
This fruit of labor's vine
For some, seems just beyond their reach
Though hard and fast they climb.
And some, uncaring, stumble on
Its green and luscious growth,
And scarce untangled can become
From stocks and bonds or both.
And there are those who fear its touch
Who only wish to know
Enough is there for basic needs,
So other interests grow.
And friends be friends for their true selves,
The inner being see,
Not for their wealth, that hands of time
Might grasp by fate's decree.
Some sudden winners cannot cope
Find they're on a plane,
That puts their lives in jeopardy,
Which hinders life's true aim.
It bears the "filthy lucre" name
For some uncertain ones,
And "root of evil's" frightening charge
From other voices come.
Could money be an instrument,
Like a stringed guitar,
When tuned and played in rhythmic tones
Bring joy to near and far.
But when it's gained improperly,
Spread notes in strange discord,
Yet used through time for right design,
Bring pleasure and reward.
So when its true perspective blends
In balance through life's whole,
This instrument of help through love,
Aid body, mind and soul?