After Trakl
Fortune with a callous cackle
Knows that unit trust you pick’ll
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 luck’ll
Save you from fate’s nasty knuckle.
How face the fact that fortune’s fickle,
And fate’s a foe you’ll fail to tackle?
Don’t buckle.
Don’t truckle.
But chuckle.
Chuckle.
Dervla Ramaswamy
If you have any comments on this poem, Dervla Ramaswamy would be pleased to
hear from you.
