Write a poem by a fortune teller.

Who knows some poems that satirize fortune tellers?

The venue was opened, the stalls were spread out, and the gods and buddhas came uninvited. Sitting cross-legged, closing your eyes and drumming your cheeks is not only a monk's temperament, but also a way to come last month. With one mouth, he calculated the fortunes, stated the interests, crooked Li Si's mouth, and made Wang Wu laugh. Bite and shout, are you a ghost or a god? The devil decides everything, and only you understand it.