Alchemy Poem by Hannington Mumo

Gleaming wager's chart spells filmy odds
And tip triers to toss wee mites for more;
To forfeit modicums of ground for vaster
Acres wider than the fabled Midas shore.

No curse greater than lost chances fair
Baked and gilded to enchant and deke,
Verily sure-win swoops altered mid air;
Glittering talismans foiled in their peak!

Each day under Fortune's ogling suns,
Gambles' lusting eyes dreamingly leer
At the cyclically winding mill of chance,
Heavy with sudden wealth's fetish fear.

Even now swift-tossed coins fruitless go,
Innumerable ages after the maiden shot;
And any flopping dice still wouldn't count,
Till Bill's vulpine wads trickle in in a draw.

Millions of eons past nature's trite element,
Odds will be spelled and big wins still bent.