The Worth of an Hour

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One man’s hour buys a feast,

Another’s barely earns him bread.

Yet each hour tolls the same release—

A heartbeat gone, a step ahead.


Does gold make one man’s breath more bright,

His pulse more strong, his soul more deep?

Or does he trade, by birth or right,

A richer wage for time he keeps?


For time is spent in equal share,

No coin can stretch a fleeting day.

The pauper’s hands, the prince’s care—

Both fade alike, both waste away.


Then tell me why one’s hour should gleam,

While one is left to toil and grieve?

If worth is measured in esteem,

Then what is left when all must leave?


Just scratching where it itches!

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