Resignation Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

To tie me to this tiresome task
no reasons real remain,
save sloth, indignity, and worse,
profit from fortune's fame.

Although for ten percent and less
of someone else's fees
I've brought of my unbiased best,
as everyone agrees,
now to be frank, no more for Franc
I'll beat the bourse for bores,
no more for petty pound to pound
from Terme to Cash for cash its floors.

All things must have an end, their term
soon past, their liquidation
won't last, from first to last I spurn
this cycle of the nation.

Twixt capitals I must commute
for Capital to please.
Their confidence has no real root,
not one of them believes
philosophy that history
provided wings to fly
to men and to humanity
on out towards the sky.

Incentive and innovation
passwords to progress are,
omit the one, the other's done,
whoever is in power!

The fight against inflation here
has now become a cause!
That fight will fail, or I'm no seer,
the die cast has sore flaws.
The higher rates of interest rise
in France and the Free World,
the less the interest that me ties,
let tragedy unfold!

As shares slide sideways, slip and slump,
while every worker wails;
Spiral of Progress is the rump,
philosophic entrails.

The present spurs too fast, betimes,
men move as in a trance,
and though they talk of hope, betimes,
they look on in askance.
Since our societal system,
like Heaven, few have faith in,
nor faith retain in fellow men,
we race to wrack and ruin.

Here have I fought with might and main
to force my firm to face
the future, but all is in vain
soon it will be too late.
Until today, to say seems strange,
I slaved, nor tempted fate.
I soon shall shed my skin and change,
and then?