Of fitting garb, in tech and trim they strive,
In kin of fur and feather, cloth did wive.
The goat of commerce bellows forth his might,
Bewitches man with snail-shell, fit and right.
In veiled realm, the rich in reticence dwell,
Yet hares can't mask their burrows so well.
The dog with golden bone speaks not of its trove,
For fear of envy's eye and thief's rove.
Young colts and kits, e'er their horns have grown,
The fruits of summer toil, seeds carefully sown.
Saved in the shell of tax-relief's snail,
Decades may pass, yet their wealth will prevail.
