The rush,
consumes a desperado.
And when the croupier,
rolls the dice -
he holds his breath.
The double breasted -
those with winnings,
standing tall,
have calculated the odds
for a big win.
A lone young punter yells
with excitement!
His conscience heavy.
He leaves the table.
'He'll never return'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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