Thus sat alone is he whose cards he plays,
But know how well he plays, the chances bore;
And so tabled are his king and queen placed,
Shall move her closer hither; ace contrary,
Now soon to feel the way endured, amazed;
For missing the counts that time his days,
Here gestures for a card, that to place,
Name him knave, below the queen to serve,
Shall breathe again for the beauty sought,
To have the sequence in matching colours reprise
Soon allots himself to new cards that place,
That place in presence of moon and candle,
With heat that sighs in fear of the silence heard,
And breathes again for steps taken to match,
This game not an easy one, vast rules and less time;
For he is the only player in this game of cards,
Thus, he is the only protagonist in his life,
What chance, and silence responds; eyes fixed, mute he;
Whilst a woman vultures around him and slow,
Complains that she is her only best played cards,
But my dear, revealed unto you is this card:
Play it well, not the easiest. Hearts can be broken;
Diamonds can be broken; Spades dug unto soil;
What of clubs? He shall frequent them behind ye,
If this game give him more pleasure than thee,
He chooses this; he prefers the chances here,
You give him none, but they are in completion, lo;
Slowly stacking, and soon to complete. The ace is parted,
The way just, and stands to know this game he played,
Now to turn the cards over, if not all the words she said;
And soon wanders out into the wilderness never back,
Once more turns, and soon finds himself alone.

Category:
Civilisation, Poetry, Works
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