The nut tree A poem about money   The King of Spain's daughter came, With her black ringlets and hungry eyes, And opened her dark lids into my face. I loved her for her olive skin And counted it above her jewels. I thought she wanted me. I showed her my silver nutmeg; She took out her calculator. I showed her my golden pear; She called her broker. And while the wind whistled through the branches And the days slipped by like a fox in the night, I waited for the nut tree. The precious metals I could do without: I just wanted the fruit, an ordinary Apple here, a walnut there. She brought no love, but lavished shares on me And all for the sake of my little nut tree.