Once upon a time,
in a town quite like yours,
there lived a young boy
who worked his father's store.
As he stacked cans and bagged bread
He kept himself busy with thoughts in his head.
One was most meddlesome
and becoming a bother.
So he set out to settle it
by asking his father.
"Dad, what makes the world go round?"
His father looked down,
a stern look on his face
"Money does, son.
Take a look at this place!
I built it bare-handed
after slaving for others
and bare-handed I provide
for you and your mother.
One day you'll grow up
and start a family too.
Then the burden of provision,
Will be all up to you."
His words made sense
and the boy took heed.
Saving each dollar and cent,
forgoing most needs.
Years passed and times changed.
Though, they all still worked hard
the store was now failing
and forced into selling,
his dad was out of a job.
They packed up and moved
to a cheaper location.
His mom, being her,
acted like it was vacation
But he knew the truth,
and thought while they journeyed.
If the money is gone,
why is the earth still turning?
YOU ARE READING
Herban Poetry
PoetryA small but ever-growing collection of original poetry from the mind of a 19 year old pothead. This is home to a large range of thoughts, feelings, and ideas that cloud my head in poetry form.
