A man with Robert Frost’s talents—he won four Pulitzers—could easily have been a great financial poet. Instead, he selected poetic themes such as reverence for nature and the simple pleasures of rural life. I guess it takes all kinds.
Suppose, however, that Frost had, in fact, opted to follow the way of the markets. Rather then writing "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," he might well have written the poem that follows. I call it: "Stopping by My Broker on a Tuesday Morning."
Stopping By My Broker
On A Tuesday Morning
The market’s rhymes I thought I knew
Its dreamy peaks and valleys too,
But lately checking out this scene
I sense I just don’t have a clue.
My broker thinks its rather odd,
He greets me with a puzzled nod,
When I drop by his working space
In search of help to save my wad.
The smile I get is clearly fake,
His palm is moist when our hands shake.
‘Think long term’ is his bland advice
He will not risk a big mistake.
The market’s moves are quick and steep,
Its not a place for bleating sheep,
So I will my own counsel keep,
So I will my own counsel keep.
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