The Game Of Whist


The cards were spread,
and the whist was in full swing,
He was scoring every point,
making even dreary souls to gleam.

The approbation he received,
was beyond par,
The plumes of his success,
Made him a czar.

The floor was his,
So was the spell,
But the texture of his eyes,
Had a different story to tell.

For all the adulations,
Had no meaning to him,
The one that he desired,
Was missing from the scene.

Copyright Β© Shantanu Baruah

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