“POOR LOSERS”
Sometimes, in my imaginings,
I spy a briefcase on the ground,
And within which (ah, were it true!)
A million dollars I have found.
To seek its owners I would try.
I really would; I'm not a  ghoul.
I'd search on low, and then on high,
Abiding by the Golden  Rule.
The tired briefcase, shabby, worn,
Would tell its tale, albeit  mute,
Of family, its assets shorn,
A needy lot, left destitute.
Return the cash? Oh, yes I will.
Keep some for me? No, not a sou.
The million  dollars would fulfill
The prayers of that cashless crew.