The monied hand of death collects us all itself.
Only the true bereaved will feel a loss of wealth.
I never have seen a hearse dragging worldly means.
Long are gone the days of treasured funeral scenes.
Ancient kings lay naked now; all their goods displayed.
They mourn their loss unheard; inside the tombs slaves made.
Understanding was, thru the ages, slow to form.
Yet now, thru wills & trusts, legacies are the norm.
All you collect in life; whatever game you play…
Seems a waste of sun; saving for a rainy day.
L.B.Stowe 