dash

After Trakl

Fortune with a callous cackle
Knows that unit trust you pickíll
Turn your cash-flow to a trickle
And your nice but modest muckle
To a miserable mickle.

Before a baby starts to suckle,
Time has marked it for his sickle.
Never ever think your luckíll
Save you from fateís nasty knuckle.


How face the fact that fortuneís fickle,
And fateís a foe youíll fail to tackle?
Donít buckle.
Donít truckle.
But chuckle.
Chuckle.


Dervla Ramaswamy

If you have any comments on this poem, Dervla Ramaswamy would be pleased to hear from you.

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