I do not sit and sigh for wealth untold,
It never thrusts itself into my schemes;
I shrink from all your piles of clanking gold,
Better my sparkling hoard of golden dreams.
A life of limousined and jeweled ease is but a round of fathomless ennui.
Your motor cars, your pearls, your sables, these are naught to me.
Better a homely flat in Harlem's wilds, than a costly living's spurious benefits.
Better a simple buttercake at Childs' than caviar and stalled ox at the Ritz.
Your unearned gold to me, is shot with flaws; A life of honest toil I'd make my lot.
Which really makes it very nice, because it's what I've got.
Tompkins fledgling frolicks on a fire escape, then returns to nest tree - The younger of the two Tompkins Square Park hawklets fledged the nest at 2:02pm on Friday, July 13. It spent the night on a fire escape on E 8th Street and...
2 days ago