Millions. They say the old man was worth that much. It said so on his bank statement And stock portfolio. His wealth was measured by His fleet of Italian cars and his Armada of Spanish yachts. Earthly wealth. Coveted. His withered body was draped in the Most expensive handmade silk From the marketplaces of India And his viewing was placed in the largest cathedral Reserved for men who spent their lives hoarding Gold and Power. It was a somber event: The day of the old man's funeral. But the only tears that were wept Were by those whose names had been left out of his will. Coveted. Those in the vast audience stole glances at solid gold watches As the orator dragged on about the man's rich life. Meaningless words. They couldn't care less So the world was without one more millionaire... Pocket change. They say the aged father was worth that much. It said so on his bills And supermarket name tag. His poverty was measured by His five young, adoring children Who realized their own wealth had just been taken from them. More than wealth. Coveted. His sweat-stained body was draped in the Oldest heirloom lace From the dusty closet of their inner-city shack And his viewing was placed in the small chapel on the corner Reserved for men who spent their lives providing for their families Love and hope. It was a somber event: The day of the aged father's funeral. And the tears that were wept Were by those who would never spend time with the man again. Coveted. Those in the audience dabbed at their eyes with handkerchiefs As the pastor recalled the man's rich life. Nostalgic words. Their lives would never be the same Because the world was without one more kind soul... Millions. They say he was worth that much.