In card games
From players in strange paintings
Heroes often exist
We shall call them the jack of spades
That dig their own grave
Until, the lamp burns
The card is exchanged begrudgingly
From player to player
Looking for works of art
Is this romance of the evening
The delight of wine
The tinkering of glasses
And the somnabulant progress
Of the card game
Enough for us to gamble away our lives
Like rolling stones that gather no moss