The Richest Man in Town
I thought him crazy as a loon
But who was I to know
He’d push a cart around the streets
He had no place to go
I’d see him every single day
In front of shops he chose
Seated in a canvas chair
Unless of course, it snowed
I heard he died a month ago
And I was rather shocked
I swore I saw him just last week
Was I just being mocked?
I often wondered where he lived
He had to sleep somewhere
It seems he had a little room
And he just died right there
They said he had more money
Than he would ever show
And kept it hidden far away
But now we’ll never know…
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Your poem reminds me of Edwin Arnold Robinson’s “Richard Cory.”