The fate is desperate sometimes,

It's ruthless, deaf to sighs and cries,

It plays no need to someone's hopes,

Although it knows the real ropes.

And someone seeks how to console,

To steal in secret , in a hole,

To sweeten life, to sugar sins,

To think that love is one of means,

To strike the fate a swinging blow,

Just trying hard to make a row.

So someone struggles like an elf

But he (oh, dear!) strikes himself.