Author Lizette Woodworth Reese I have so little, yet am rich; I pay my bread with gold Filched from wild mustard by the road, As much as I can hold. I have such plenty, yet am poor; I pay my roof with tears Shed for the time when I was young, And unaware of years. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments