We all dance, but Fate calls the tune
Under torrid southern skies
fickle Fate dons different guise;
trades heavy robe and cumbrous scythe
for dancer’s dress and slender knife.
Man makes a game of chase and run
while doing that which must be done,
long days of toil, brief bits of fun
and Fate doth dance with everyone.
Man struggles through his fear and pain
ignoring risk while seeking gain,
never knowing if it’s too late
in his tangled tango with Fate.
She twirls him round in graceful dance
a mockery of sweet romance,
he sees his end in one grim glance
and knows he’s lost this final chance.
Music crescendos up on high,
Fate pulls him down close to her thigh,
his silent plea gets no reply,
her sharp-edged kiss his last good-bye.
(20 lines, quatrain, aabb)