Money and prophet by Grant Harbison

Many had feared the seer

For his messages had often been dire

Awash with gloom

And great balls of fire

They’d come from miles around

To hear him speak in that small Bavarian town

Crammed into a large room

They’d listened to his tales of horror and impending doom

They’d observed him with wide eyed stares

As he’d ranted and raved with hands in the air

Some had shrieked and many had gasped

At his thundering hollers and derisory rasps

But the prophet had been wise you see

For to hear his words had required a small fee

And day after day he’d smiled when he’d emptied his pockets

For what is a prophet if he cannot profit?