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Six Women in the round Six women in the round, it’s growing late. A cachet of jewels and clubs in your hand, Play like you’re sober and keep your face straight. Winning’s like silken fingers catching sand It’s paid off, though you’re certain it’s a fluke You’ve never been a believer in fate Or felt fantastically quick or astute. Six women in the round, it’s growing late. You’re the top bidder in the second round You pause a fraction then lead as you planned. Concentration’s intense, your temples pound, A cachet of jewels and clubs in your hand. You’ve won both rounds now the thirds being dealt. You’re on a high and it feels first rate, though In good fortunes chamber you’ve never dwelt. Play like you’re sober and keep your face straight. To some, laying bare the kookaburra (-the joker’s) the pinnacle- great and grand, But that’s not how I find my own hurrah! Winning’s like silk fingers that can catch sand. My greatest glee is in open misère Absolute ruin means you win outright It’s hard to achieve, a daredevils fate But if I get it, it’ll make my night. Six women in the round, it’s growing late. by Debbie Jellings |
