GLUTTONY CLOWN

Devoured by the sense of gold,
The clown entertains himself by years.
Endowed to cheer himself up by fears,
fears of loosing the Midas’ bold.

His hands got nothing to grip,
away of his luck, getting frontier.
Thus the moment, he held breathlessly,
breathe his breath with golden tip.

Someday he’ll do what God has told,
Other day he rejects, what God foretold;
—“Golden cup and mold, why are you,
so hard, so hard, upon mine turn so blue”.

Thus the moment, he mourn anxiously,
Anxious so precious, as if drowned to deep.