Despite attempts to raise my hopes,
With scant regard for horoscopes,
And full contempt for Delphic dreams,
I’m sure that all is as it seems.

The shining sun I’ll disregard,
The chirping birds from mind are barred,
With shooting stars and signs of luck
And omens bright, I’ll have no truck.

I’ll analyse, with logic chill,
Statistics standing starkly still,
And never mind the hopeful heart
For, faced with fact, it must depart.

The cheerful word and welcome smile
Are Greek to every dataphile,
And optimistic words and cheer
Will hardly find a welcome here!