They don’t come luckier than me:
I’ve not nine lives, I’ve ninety-nine.
In street-fights (I’ve had two or three)
or knife-fights, victory’s been mine.
I keep a trusty rabbit’s foot
in the breast-pocket of my suit.
When I see magpies, I see four.
Black cats, for luck, curl round my heels.
I find one coin then I find more.
Thrice blessed with luck is how it feels.
I ride in carriages by day,
go to my club and rarely pay.
But England’s far too tame for me
so to America I’ll sail.
In luxury, I’ll put to sea
on a new liner, massive scale,
de-luxe, designed to get there quick.
They’ve named the vessel, Titanic.
Edgar Allan Poet
