Still hokeying, still pokeying

When Richard Quimby walked through Arlington,
    He set our eyes aflame with jealousy.
To have his wealth--oh, it'd be great fun!
    Such riches aren't for you and aren't for me.

Quimby would flaunt his graces, show his style,
    His stature grand, his bearing debonair.
He'd make our hearts leap when he'd flash his smile:
    See, Richard Quimby was a trillionaire.

We toiled and bled for every crust and husk;
    We drained the bitter wine down to its dregs:
And Richard Quimby, one calm summer dusk,
    Danced the hokey-pokey and broke his legs.