Explore "Spendthrift" by Annie Fellows Johnston on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
HE was a king one time, / And they wrapped the ermine around him, / And the bells rang out when they crowned him, / Rang with a joyful chime.
And he sat on a throne! / The wealth that a world could offer / Was heaped in the New Year's coffer, / For the world was his own.
He was a spendthrift though, / And the coins of his lavish giving / Were the golden moments of living, -- / Coins that he squandered so.
He is a beggar now.
In the night and the storm he lingers, / No gold in his prodigal fingers, -- / King with the uncrowned brow.
Nothing to call his own! / His fortune scattered behind him; / Death empty-handed shall find him, -- / A New Year takes his throne.