Ode To Money

What is this thing called money?

Is it a kind of monkey,
Chattering on a branch,
Swinging from tree to tree,
wild and free,
in a world stricken with grief?

Or is money a kind of trick
The sort magicians do,
A pulling of rabbits from sleeves
For entertainment only,
Not to be taken too seriously?

Or is it a really serious thing
More serious than a bet in the Melbourne Cup
That it goes so deep
Than even an underground train tunnel
Would seem above ground?