The Rich Man
by Franklin Pierce Adams

The rich man has his motorcar,
His country and his town estate.
He smokes a fifty cent cigar
And jeers at fate.

He frivols through the livelong day…
He knows not Poverty, her pinch.
His lot seems light, his heart seems gay,
He has a cinch.

Yet though my lamp burns low and dim,
Though I must slave for livelihood…
Think you that I would change with him?
Yet bet I would!