Ben Simon was a broker bold
who’d turned his share of crashes,
the recent slump his stumps had bowled
with shares returned to ashes.
Then as they hammered him from ‘Change,
he stammered “with a spread
I might my spread keep, not exchange
my blue bloods, in the red! ”
Head watch-dogs dogged his tracks before
he suddenly made tracks,
and headed south ahead of four
headlines in weekend tracts.
Though contracts signed seemed so well heeled, -
the heel – but yet inside a
good deal of each deal he had wheeled
were bad contacts insider!
Although he swore an open book
each trade was ‘fore bear raid,
betrayed, he soon was brought to book
and in the dock arrayed.
The moral of this tale, who knows?
Fools’ gold will e’er attract,
but details missed, or jealous foes
woe’s tales tell, ‘tis a fact...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well conceived and elegantly brought forth in beautiful rhyme scheme.