You act surprised to find me sporting pants
And spending chips from stacks of tidy piles,
A pack of cards like autumn in my hands;
My cronies fan their cards to hide their smiles.
It’s been a while since you were here last spring.
I wore my fancy silk, as I recall;
I’m not beguiling in my oldest things,
But I’m no less myself, enhanced by fall.
You say I'm foolish, yet you want to know
Why I let chancy bets use up my stores:
I know the things I hoard will never grow;
I let them go in order to have more.
Here—take these chips—and change out of your frown
And take a chance on life, and cast them down.