He is not a miser. He has given Everything.
The salt in the sea and the sugar in the tea-cup;
loveliness and incense;
dark caverns within the soul and the poisonous shadows
of the moonlit sky.
The reason which explains the brittleness of glass
at the slighest callous touch.

When He chose to give, He gave All.
When He will choose to Take, He will spare Nothing.
Only, a few drops of blood will sparkle and blossom
on the pain-filled Fingers.