Sunday, December 18, 2011

Hearts, spades, clubs, diamonds

The cards flutter down on green felt

A soft slapping sound as the dealer deals

A fool’s game of loss that steals and seals

The fate of some with more wealth

Less than the sense to understand

That no one knows if the cards are marked

And if he has a sleight of hand

To hide well what cards he parked

In the pack and destined to lead astray

The sharpest eye and erode the game play

Of those experienced players who read the faces

Of their opponents when the aces

Are dealt right from the bottom deck

To land not at random but where

They are selected.

Life is often a card game,

Where the deck is cut by a dealer

Who knows the beginning and end of the game

Before it starts and none is the same

except Hearts, spades, clubs, diamonds

Are four different parts of fortune.

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