With apologies to Felicia Hemans (1793

With apologies to Felicia Hemans (1793 - 1835) (The boy stood on the burning deck)

The boy stood by the very cold deck
Whence all but he had dealt;
The banter that lit the table’s wreck
Shone round him o'er the felt.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the game;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud, though innocent name.

The pots rolled on–he would not go
Without his mentor’s word;
That mentor, breath’s faint did blow,
His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud–'say, Mentor, say
If yet my task is done?'
He knew not that Big Blind would play
Unconscious of this, bar none.

'Speak, Mentor!' once again he cried,
'If I may yet push in!, be done'
And but the grey one not replied,
And fast the clock ticked on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair,
And looked from that lone post of death
In still yet brave despair.

And shouted but once more aloud,
'My Mentor! must I stay?'
While o'er him fast, the Big Blind proud,
The wreathing doubts made way.

They warped his mind like nightmares can,
They caught the rail in silence high,
And streamed above the gallant man,
Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder sound–
The Man, wherein the pot was he?
Ask of the mentor that sage most sound
With much more experience you see!–

With strength, and purpose, and confidence fair,
Cos he knew Tikay would his praises sing–
Red-Dog pushed all in chips into the glare
Only to hear “Where you going with that Ace King”.