The Light Source

Of soul and dollar bills,

The account finds.

And all the time that fills

Those active minds.

Let slip work to grant more.

To engage with love’s play

The joy that is in store

With labor’s luscious day.

E’ry drop of clocks punched

Makes it harder for the finder to go.

Like money that is munched,

Devoured by minutes that seem slow.

Of soul and dollar bills,

There is a flowering stock or bond.

When cash just spills,

The earner’s smile is fond.

To take the shares

Means to admit what’s right.

The spirit still cares

And the debit card says good night.