Sunday, February 03, 2008

Rare As Rubies

Rare As Rubies

See, my dad would have said
He sold money to people
When they needed it most.

He never called it insurance
Because he knew that no one
Believes in their own death.

But how many times he passed
A widow the cheque that mattered.
Or to a widower, handed it.

How many? Countless.
And then even he, as salesman
Went to be with his clients.

I remember him today as
The most honest man I yet know.
A seller of truth, rare as rubies.

I believe in my dad.
He promised no one insurance,
But assurance, yes.

He bought what he sold.
He sold what he bought.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2008

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