From Riches To Dross

As I child I learned how bewitchingly
opportune it often proved to be, to
proceed in my daily perambulations,
conceivably risking life and limb as
I crossed busy intersections to determinedly
focus my sight on the street before me
rather than oncoming traffic, despite
my mother's constant admonitions.

For my absorption on what might
lay before my eagerly questing gaze
tended toward occasional jubilant rewards
of objects serendipidously found that others
had inadvertently dropped; cash, jewels,
toys and hair ornaments I would never,
by other means, be in proud possession of.
As though Dame Fortune nodding in
approval at my childish fantasies of
come-by-chance, possessions, with
no harm ever coming my way.

Now, infinitely older, albeit perhaps
no wiser, I still keep my gaze affixed below
as I proceed, but now I do so in the confines
of my home. For my very elderly companion
dog, now somewhat physically decrepit,
no longer mentally alert, has been dropping
fecal treasures whenever the urge takes her
in her state of dementia; items I much
prefer not to discover having trod upon.