Lady Luck stroked my face on a moonlit night
her gifts were plenty, her grace benign.
I let myself wilt into a giddy sleep
“Fortune hath chosen my bedside!”
In the morning, horrified, I wake to see
the hue and cry, the dole and mire;
“All lost!” “All lost!” is all they repeat…
All is lost in the fire.
I fall on my knees and upon her feet,
“Why?”, I ask, “What was my wrong?”
Says she, “‘Tis the lesson I’m born to teach:
grieve thine losses and soldier on.”
© Isha Garg