He can lay on the Red—which is Conquered Fear,
Or the Black—which is Utter Shame.
(And there isn’t much choice between Reds and Blacks,
For Death throws “zero” whichever he backs.)
So that whether man plays for the red gold’s wealth
Where the little ball clicks and spins,
Or hazards his life in the black night’s stealth
When machine-gun fire begins—
It’s a limited gamble; and each of us knows
What he stands to lose ere the tables close.