And when, in glints of gold, I think I see
That distant hint of wealth which should be mine,
I have to bring to mind that reasons be
Which separate me from that cash sublime.
So here I sit, a humble Homo Sap
And sap may well be right, today’s mot juste.
To him who has my funds I doff my cap,
My fortune’s gone for ever and I’m bust!
‘But why?’ I hear you ask, and sounding vexed,
‘Why does this sad misfortune haunt your mind?’
Let me explain, as no doubt you’re perplexed,
My wealthy forbear died, left all behind.
Of his two sons, the elder took the lot,
And I’m descended from the younger clot!