The rich man's vaults are filled with gold,
A story of wealth that’s often told.
But in his eyes, a vacant stare,
For joy and peace are seldom there.
The poor man walks with empty hands,
Yet smiles and dreams of distant lands.
His wealth lies not in what he owns,
But in the love he calls his home.
For riches fade, and gold grows old,
While kindness, warmth, and hearts unfold.
Two lives, two paths, but in the end,
It's love, not wealth, that will transcend.
Natiqua Haque
