Parsimonious
The mean old curmudgeon
Stored away his riches
Hidden in the basement
Safe and secure
His only daughter
Struggled to get by
She worked three jobs
To feed two mouths
Living in a rough neighborhood
Rent was always rising
The building squalid
The appliances functioned occasionally
Too few lights darkened the place
Time spent her son, too limited
At least they were together
The miser alone
Estranged
His was a poverty of
Relationship
© 2018 Jason A. Muckley
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