A Flash of glittering gold is my art,
The metallic clinking of coins a symphony,
But these I enjoy in solitude,
Away from grasping hands and coveting eyes.
My cave is hidden away—secluded—
The sight of my treasure ensnares men:
Most become drunk with but a glimpse,
Risking all they are for a pittance share.
For such men I have naught to offer,
Not a coin shall part my company or care,
Though many a destitute beggar I encounter,
I will only tighten my purse’s strings.
Beggar or urchin may come calling to me,
But my fortress gates are unyielding:
The cries and pleas for mercy I hear,
These I detest and violently despise.
My fortunes I must tend, never straying,
Seldom do I venture from my abode,
For a miser cannot his treasure leave,
Nor can a dragon abandon his cave.
Piercing are the cries from the poor,
And scalding are the challenges of my foe,
Yet none is quite so haunting
As that soft voice beckoning me home.