Call that poetry? Pfffft.... I am a small green man of old age, Intoxicated to the right stage. Never getting so drunk, That I smell like a skunk, Or end up on the papers front page. I have two leather pouches I carry, With coins that will make you contrary. The silver coin returns, As most everyone learns The gold turns to leaves, light and airy. Oh Mortals, do you think me a fool? As for my crock of gold, you do drool. I did bury it so good, It could be where you stood, Cause I think your as blind as a mule.. If you catch me, I will guarantee, A great wealth if allowed to go free. But you better take care, I can vanish in air, And that will be the last you see me.