“poker”

In smoky rooms where lamplight bends,  
A deck gets cut, suspense ascends—  
The cards, precise as whispered lies,  
Are dealt beneath observing eyes.

A sea of faces, bluff and bold,  
Bet fortunes on a river cold;  
The queen of hearts, a traitor's grin,  
Will tempt the wary soul to sin.

A single chip, a borrowed hope,  
The trembling hand, the silent scope—  
The tells are tiny: tapping nails,  
A downward glance when courage fails.

Four kings and all the world might change,  
A flush can make the fates arrange  
A sudden windfall, wild with glee—  
Or fold, and drown in mystery.

Yet luck is fickle, skill is sly,  
And every truth disguised as sly;  
For poker’s not just hand and stake,  
But holding fast through every break.

In Vegas lights or kitchen nights,  
With friends or strangers in our sights,  
We face the bluff, the loss, the win—  
The luck, the bluff, the heart within.

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