I, with poor judgment guiding me,
Have over-spent to some degree.
That’s why I’m sick of buying things.
I wish I had just eyes and wings.

My fancy boat, with motors in the rear,
Has not been moved for half a lengthy year.
I call my pool, “A puddle in the ground;”
The ducks go there to swim around.

There’s grass to cut, there’s glass to clean;
No time to read a magazine;
Just time to pick up doggie-doo;
Just time to think, “What is life coming to?”

Perhaps, since wants have gone too far,
Things should not be the way they are.
I may, with just a bag of earthly goods,
Head, like a deer, for the thickets of Flatwoods.