The fortune teller, studying his palm,
Pushed herself from the table, in alarm.
His life line, she said,
Told her he’d be dead,
If he didn’t purchase her magic charm.


The poor fellow was drunk and mighty scared,
So the contents of his wallet he shared,
Took the charm and went
Out of her dark tent,
Very relieved that his life had been spared.


The charm was a tiny silver locket
That he slipped into his trousers pocket,
But through a small tear
It fell out of there.
Someone found it and took it to hock it.


When he learned that the magic charm was gone,
The drunk retraced the route he had been on.
All to no avail,
For the search did fail,
And the frightened fellow died before dawn