By day he played the markets;

At night he played the fool.

In youth he would play truant,

To get away from school.

 

In common with those round him,

In life he played a part:

A tragic, gilded aesthete

Who suffered for his art,

 

The tough, self-made financier,

Who played for all they’re worth

The hapless types endowed with

A silver spoon from birth,

 

The warm, devoted husband,

Who played around outside,

And lived with this by being

Unbothered when he lied.

 

To play at dead or play the ball

Are star turns for the crowd;

He once came close to playing God,

But this was disallowed.

 

We all play roles as best we can,

And later work and rest;

Advancement was the game he played,

And nearly no one guessed.