Like a bolt of lightning out of the night
and you're down and out, head over heels
like someone in one of Sinatra's songs
riding high in April shot down in June
You never know baby when that wheel
of fortune turns and you're out of chips
and the song turns sour and the notes flat
and you're on your uppers in the game
that's life that's all there is but you stay
in the game play with the hand you're dealt
until the curtain comes down
and the ump calls you out!
Michael Pruchnicki
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/frank-s-song/
