To Kurt
A sun tanned bloke state in the corner
Had nothing except his soul to barter
For him the flavor was always bitter
Yet he waited with dice to gamble his honor
Sweet sister cant see your face
Not sure whether its shame or disgrace
The holy father forgot to bless
As he sat in the corner of this place
Time is a mighty device
Never fails to wash your vice
Yet he tried to hold on to the slipping sand
With all the might offered by his hand
Rolling dice is a tricky subject
Can ‘t hold luck by a thread
He scratched his itch to fell himself
In a grand scheme to make amend
Laid eyes in the leprechaun’s treasure
Forgot to take the appropriate measure
Still he placed his bet in the table
There is nothing better than an all in
Roby