A chest is privy to
All matters of theft, hate, spite and deceit
For, foolishly, man believes
That whatever holds enough value to remain locked away
Must hide immense worth, and hence wealth.

Even if it means battling to their death
The soldiers of greed cannot teach themselves to
Bow down to their reasoning.

And so, if you come upon a wooden chest
Filled with rows of drawers charmed with spruce from the west
You might think of many things.

What springs to mind in form of gold and gem, scepter and crown, and all those petty wants;
For if you think hard
A wise man will find
That a chest should remain closed
As an open one holds no more secrets.