Victorian nose drop

Ponzi schemes and Freud's dreams,

Mr Alan had suffered from a shrink flop,

From voodoo nymphs and herbal creams

He mixed a Victorian nose drop.

It gleamed like gold, his build quite bold,

He took to street this Potion.

And squawked past nine his juice divine,

Its magical cure to cold.

It sold in droves, this treasure trove

That Alan had found in chance.

But to his chagrin, a traitor shagged in

And laundered it out of his hands.

Down and in grief, Alan's belief

That the world was truly his oyster

Had fallen apart, before it could start

Towed away in his own little hoister.