Memoirs Of A Billionaire (7 Nov)

Tell me of your provenance, I say,

Sitting by the window,

With a pen in hand and a blank page,

Looking out to the pleasant meadow

The old man cringes in his bed,

And makes a sound unknown,

Coughing once and then once more,

He starts with a bit of a subtone

I was born to parents immersed in poverty,

By the time I was old enough, they had already perished,

Grew up on the streets from then on,

Feeling always famished

Yet I wished for one thing,

And one thing only,

Please, Oh, please God,

Give me back my family

Toughened by the streets,

And made smarter by dealing with crooks,

I soon found ways to earn money,

Taking advantage of schnooks

I started off on the wrong side of the law,

But was always fortunate,

When the time came,

I went corporate

Legalising my businesses,

I soon realised,

The white collars are much more evil,

Then all of what the poor comprised

Survival instincts led me forward,

And I bludgeoned on,

All that success didn’t make an iota of a difference,

My wish for a family pricked me like a thorn

I soon married,

Hoping to fill that hole,

She did though leave me,

Breaking my soul

I married again and then again,

Hoping to twist the animosity of fate,

But the world was cruel to me,

My sins attracted its hate

Even though I’m seminal,

I never could fulfil my dream,

Everything fell into line,

Except for my family’s gleam

As the old man went into a stupor,

I looked to the heavens above rapidly,

Praying and thanking,

In earnest for having a family.