A Son of Adam dug beside the way.
" Why Brother, do you dig? " I stopped to ask.
Standing at stoop and pausing in his task,
From dreary eyes he wiped the seat away.
" I work for money. " " What is money, pray? "
" A foolish question, this you come to ask! "
Yet in that gray and worry-haunted mask
At hide-and-seek I saw my query play.

" It is the graven symbol of your ache. "
I said, " — the minted meaning of your blood;
And he who works not, robs you when he buys!
You are the vassal of a thing you make! "
I left him staring hard upon the mud,
The glimmer of a portent in his eyes.