On Unsoundness

“Why can’t I be rich?” I asked him, as I looked at the wealth all around.

“Why must I live with nothing, when for so many wealth does abound?”

“Why can’t I live in that mansion where artworks and treasures are found?”

“Why can’t I just heap up my money, into a meaningless mound?”

“I couldn’t be rich” he then told me “if I didn’t keep you tightly bound.”

“I can’t live off the fat of the country, without peasants to till the ground.”

I knew as I laboured away then, this system could never be sound.

About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
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