As leaf piles shuffle a hand is tipped,

Seven jokers

from a sleeve have slipped,

And told of summer’s fading.

Windows fixed

In all – Made ready

Between the ticks the chill is steady

Upon those ladies wading.

In times, once said, the Jokers knew

Of seasons read,

And fables blue.

That yet remain unspoken

But the echo of valleys,

And hills to climb,

Could leave a mark,

Or leave a rhyme

In rows of prose unbroken.

Until such time

on a hidden night

When shadows lit by candlelight

Tell a tale of seven jokers.

In rhyme of crime it is told as well,

Though not the jokers who would but tell,

Or dare disturb those smokers.

Yet a life story long,

or just a life,

will show the wear

within the strife

and prayers sent off to heaven.

But the tale, once told, in all –

is done.

When it’s your turn

you’ll deal for one,

And shuffle in the Seven.