He chased a hundredweight of gold,
It fled from him like it had wings;
She sought her pleasure in the wind,
An all the promise summer brings

They stood out in a field of red,
Him, focused on his troubles,
While she was barely listening
And mostly blowing bubbles.

“It is a scandal how things are,”
He thought he saw her nodding —
And so he angrily went on,
Which took but little prodding

But when he paused to take a breath,
She said, “It’s gotten breezy.
And how you choose to live —
You had to know it wasn’t easy.”

He watched her purse her lips again,
The flowers swayed in rhythm:
And he thought, maybe blowing bubbles
Is a kind

Of wisdom