As beads of sweat drop from his brow, this will be the last game he’ll vow,
There is a tremble in his fingers, his breathing shallow, as fear lingers.

He bits his nails, he chews his lip, he rolls his eyes and takes two sips,
He looks up, drops his shoulders and avoids the stare of faceless soldiers.

Lady luck’s advice was dismissed, she said stick, but he said twist.
When did this get so out of hand? At risk? Two hundred grand.

It’s too late now it’s down to fate, no more bets, he takes the bate,
The rooms so intense, he keeps his cool, fingers crossed for this fool.

His temperature rises, he clutches his chest, falls to the floor, what a mess,
Security rush from the sides, “Call 999 before he dies”.

He loses his house, his car, his life, left behind his broken wife.
Nature has snatched this Casanova. Poker fate says its game over.