Debit

Debit whispers from the ledger's quiet page,
A steady pulse where numbers gently sway,
Each transaction a soft, unhurried stage,
Where credit's echo fades to measured grey.

It tells the tale of coins that slip away,
Of careful sums that shrink the vaulted store,
A modest dance of loss and weary day,
Yet balances the books forevermore.

In British banks, the term stands firm and clear,
No flashy flash, just honest, plain regard—
A ledger's sigh, a ledger's sincere tear,
Keeping the faithful account on guard.

So let the debit hum its steady tune,
A quiet reminder that we spend, we earn,
And in each line, beneath the silver moon,
Our fortunes turn, and softly, we discern.