Oh dear embezzler, you are wasting still
All your inheritance in a crazy motion,
The Nature doesn't make a gift
Of beauty - lends it free to free ones.
The charming miser, you are going to
The appropriate things you need to transmit,
But you are storing treasure as recluse
Without counting and not becoming rich.
You always deal only with own, thus
Losing all the profits from the wealth of being,
And in the hour of end - what would you ask,
What would you answer 'bout wastes to Destiny?
With body - all your future image
Will be then buried, but not embodied really.