Syomiti

Syomiti, eyes stern with a banker's might,

Says, "Lost funds, dear sir, are a sorry sight.

Though tempting to claim what has slipped away,

Accounts reflect truth, for another's payday."

Her voice, though polite, holds a steely core,

Guiding lost souls to what banks store.

No magic wand here, no wish fulfilled,

Only debits and credits, expenses distilled.

Syomiti knows woes that misfortune brings,

Of empty pockets and financial stings.

But records stand firm, a ledger's decree,

Protecting the bank's flow, eternally.

So, plead though you may, with a tearful tone,

Lost funds vanished, like a bird flown.

Syomiti's the gatekeeper, duty her guide,

In the bank's domain, where truth must reside.