My horoscope provided me
  With this precise advice:
Move towards the west until
  I face a simple choice.

The road will fork and I must choose
  The darkest path ahead,
The one that might well lead to lands
  Where reprobates have fled.

Trees will reach across the road
  To block the fading light,
Engendering a sombre mood
  Before the start of night.

I'll fear the hedgerows veiled in shade
  Where putrid creatures lurk.
I'll come across a tennis ball
  That glows despite the murk.

I'll take the ball and persevere
  With my dismaying trek,
Through a custom-built machine
  To make a nervous wreck.

I'll meet a man in tennis whites
  Who'll lose his tearful mood.
The ball will bring effusive glee
  And gushing gratitude.

He'll take me to a mansion full
  Of lights defying sorrow,
A place to quell the sense that night
  Will last all day tomorrow.

I'll join the party underway,
  Converging on its zenith.
Events suggest a musical
  And someone there will pen it,

A light romantic comedy
  About my love affair,
Nourished by enchanting sounds
  That fill the summer air.

I'll meet a wealthy heiress there.
  We'll leave the revelry.
Each whispered word of hers will have
  The force to level me.

The months that follow this will be
  A giddy whirl of frolics,
Of blissful, dizzy afternoons
  With cheerful alcoholics,

Evenings spent forgetting that
  It's not all fun in life,
Drives in her Rolls Royce till she
  Agrees to be my wife.

I followed this well-meant advice.
  I went into the west.
I chose the road and found the ball.
  I think you know the rest.

And now I find myself engaged
  To Isobel, a beauty.
I've thanked the many gracious men
  Who've volunteered to shoot me,

Should I require a firing squad
  To scratch an irksome itch,
Or should I need to be a corpse
  Abandoned in a ditch.

Isobel and I will start
  Our married life in splendour,
A grand old house with verdant grounds
  That have their own defender,

A massive hound who roams the lawns
  And probes the latest blooms,
While I stay in to spend my days
  Discovering new rooms.

But now my latest horoscope
  Says I should head back east,
And keep my course till I perceive
  A keen, committed beast.

This is when I should escape
  And find a cave to hide,
And for the next twelve months or so
  I'll rarely go outside.

I'll find a small supply of beans
  Inside a dead man's cans.
I'll eat the mice who acquiesce
  With my plain dinner plans.

I won't be heeding this advice.
  I'll stay with Isobel,
Leaving her would break my heart.
  I'd rather visit hell.

But there's a voice I hear at dawn
  When charming dreams are gone.
It says I'll only be content
  If I keep moving on.