(i) The Gambler Addresses The Martingale

Said the gambler to the martingale:
Youíve ruined me, you fiend;
You tricked me with a fairy tale,
And now I stand demeaned.

You promised me a rich reward,
Instead, you stole my purse;
Your system is to be abhorred,
A pox on you, a curse!

You are a wretch, a bacillus,
Your heart is black as sin,
Your talk is fabulous
As is your promise of a win.

But talk is all youíve ever done,
Your boast is loud and brash,
But when youíve won,
Itís penny ante; when youíve lost, itís CASH!

Iím through with you forevermore,
Youíve brought me naught but strife,
Where I was modest now Iím poor,
So get out of my life.

(ii) The Martingale Replies

You call me wretched but thereís none
As sick or low as you,
For our liaison was begun
Your future to accrue.

You cared for naught but worldly wealth,
So deep were you obsessed
You paid no heed to love nor health
Nor eíen the way you dressed.

Your mind was on a single track,
Yet lower still you sank,
Until there was no turning back,
Itís not me you should thank,

Or blame, but you, your lust and greed,
Your gullibility,
For coveting what you donít need...
And thinking youíd be given it for free.

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