A Road From From Rags To Riches. 

  I walk these four miles
starting with the stricken poor
whose calm acceptance shines in smiles,
whose bitter frownings graze the floor.

  Then a mile, and I enter the streets of the rich,
of Mr. and Mrs. Moremoneythan-Sense.
I would laugh till I'm stopped by a terrible stitch
if their arrogant waste didn't give me offence.

  Third mile - domain of the very rich.
The wide roads whisper like the aisles of a church.
The song in my head flies higher in pitch
till a brutal snob stare makes my heart lurch.

  But soon I reach a place unguarded,
the road like a runway launching free.
The gateman's gone; so has the gate.
I swiftly stride, my walk rewarded,
through woods and golf-courses wild and winded
to the ashgrove lair that entrances me.
The warm resins crust, and I'm leaving late;
and I'm glad that the landowner's power is rescinded.