To a Grabber

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To a Grabber

If, Prentiss Maslin, you would kindly leave

A coin or two of what the State has hoarded

We’d think it generous of you; for we’ve

But just begun our fortunes to retrieve,

Having lost all our treasury afforded

To certain robbers, who, departing, left

Us you as a memorial of the theft.

Memorial? Bless you! you’re the very thing

Incarnate⁠—and by no means any cleaner

For incarnation. Sir, you are the king

Of crimes, grown great and proud remembering

When you were young and but a misdemeanor.

Let lesser souls be ravenous of pelf,

He scorns the gains of greed who’s greed itself.

What! shall a firework covetously yearn

While splendoring the skies⁠—a gorgeous rocket

Where golden constellations grandly burn⁠—

To take the earth along? ’Tis sad to learn

That even the robe of glory has a pocket.

In you, alas! I’d fondly hoped to see

One man that loved himself unselfishly.