Fortune Teller Poem by James Walter Orr

I feel life coming back to my wounded heart,
and I see the post below,
but I'm afraid to have my fortune told,
I'm without the nerve to know.

Perhaps it's best, in the scheme of things,
to sit here alone in my cellar
and watch from afar that crystal ball
and the lovely fortune teller.

Should a treasure arise from the future's mists
or the past yet resurrect,
perhaps the word will then trickle down
in a manner circumspect.

It would still fall within possibilities realm,
and break not one law of the land,
should the word be engraved in a perfumed note
and brought down in the lady's hand.