I have every material wealth conceivable-
A mansion in the hill, fatuous women;
A fleet of cars, fat contracts;
Cupboard brimming, fat belly;
Mile-long bankbooks, fat arthritis;
I crave for more and more and more,
Except that I don’t crave for god anymore-
My god is a small god, if anything at all.
Elmer Sayre writes from Initao, Misamis Oriental.