The Gambler’s Fallacy

Lo, the wheel it spins, and the dice they roll, A siren's song to the gambler’s soul. "Surely," they think, "luck must now bend, For the streak of misfortune is bound to end." Red has come thrice, the gambler bets black, Chasing a balance that fate won’t give back. “The odds are due!” they cry with zeal, Unaware of the truth the numbers reveal. Each coin toss, fresh, with no regard, For the flips that came before or the card. The past is a ghost; it holds no sway, Yet gamblers believe it will guide their way. A run of heads? Tails must be near! Patterns imagined to calm the fear. But randomness laughs, its dance ever blind, And mocks the logic we think we find. The chips grow thin; the debts grow tall, And still, they wager, to recover it all. "The next one," they whisper, "will surely be mine," As they feed the fallacy, line by line. So heed this tale, let wisdom preside, For chance has no memory, no favor, no side. Break free of the my...