Hidden behind his money and his possessions,
A man named Gatsby longed for a woman, Daisy.
He held soirées hoping she’d come, his obsession,
But was disappointed. He went crazy,
Crazy with grief over the love he lost,
Because he was too poor and she was rich.
She’d toyed with him a while, then to the side she tossed
Him; with a laugh, she pushed him away, what a … well-you-know.
Poor no more and friends now with her distant cousin,
Gatsby planned his reunion with his longtime love.
He transformed Nick’s house, bought flowers by the dozen —
Daisy was his again almost at once.
Money cannot buy happiness or faithfulness.
Her husband Tom was an adulterer, she knew,
And here, a man who cared for only her caress,
But still she was wavering, unsure what to do.
In the end, Gatsby died to save his love, Daisy.
Daisy moved on, away from West Egg, fled from her grief.
Nick would not forget his friend, nor forgive Miss D.
And, dear reader, that’s the tale of the Great Gatsby.
heather edick 