A poem in Terza Rima, in iambic pentameter.
There was a time when no one could disclose
What was lost, what was wrong, path of intent
Pointing to the red line, when to foreclose
Initial heart-break, awful discontent
Where to get credit, stop deficit, how
To overcome, smile even if not meant
Time passes, that was then and this is now
Happening to so many, why appease?
Identical blue-prints! What is the row?
All are part of the same boat, if you please!