Mrs Midas, My love.
I write to you my apology,
I had touched the yellowed pear and I had seen it turn to gold,
I had seen the glimmering furnishings light up our abode,
And my chair, I turned it into my throne.
I had felt the power of a gift shoot to my head from fingertips.
Oh, how power turned my soul to a shallow pit.
So now I am sat surrounded by my golden prizes,
Glimmering statues around a greying hungered figure that has become myself,
And I write to you out of regret,
Regret of greed, of cursed wealth,
And how now I know all these riches that are gold, are not obtaining of worth to me you hold.
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