Monetary Masquerade

 A snake does slither in a garden,

Draped over by a thousand golden scales,

A mighty cobra, to be precise,

Resting aboard those gold trails.

 

A noise would be tad too minute for him to notice,

For he dwells in his path alone,

Producing scales and scales of gold,

Ooh! Watch the pride by the snake shone!

 

A Basilisk further approaches,

Mightier than the cobra, to glance,

However, beside the cobra, the latter seems a trance,

But it can further advance,

And, by epistemology, encompassed,

However, it does posses no golden scale,

For it churns out a different tale,

And un-carried by fate’s gale,

Does the Basilisk trail and trail.

 

Further, if we move on to compare,

To the Basilisk a pleasure of monetary value does never ensnare,

For if a human tramples on its lair,

The creature and its life wouldn’t to prevail, dare,

And though this doesn’t at all seem fair,

Fate segregates snakes on the agony they do bare,

For some feed on grass and some on a hare,

For some do golden scales bare,

And others do not possess scales to spare.

- Krisha Shastri