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