Across the Bourse - 0116 - Initial Version

To gall, then gloom, did bear incline
Through Gaul when doom bid share decline.

I
once, twixt the spying strollers saw
dunce sixty sighing brokers sore.

Where skill may still preserve or flaw,
there ill they will deserve a floor.

Sots, they(re no hedge, nor ever sure,
whats their knowledge? poor, never more.

They'd steer, ears bent, cold rumour's roar,
strayed, veer, fearslent, old humours bore,

for where they read stock set to soar,
your share may red b[l]ock net blue score.

They've Will to lend on margin small
Save till, true end, gone Charge in call!
Fie!

(1 April 1976)

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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