‘O, to be cannon fodder!’ proclaimed the mighty fool

‘O, to be on the firing line!’ shouted the audacious tool

For he had lived to make mistakes and had regrets too

‘Why on Earth did I do this? There could be saviour. But who?’

He threw his head back and laughed manically

His demise would come quite soon

He looked around emphatically

The men felt comical like a cartoon

The words ‘O ye of little faith’ circled ‘round his head

Scepticism and common sense soon prevailed

Those words were empty and he may as well be dead

This chapter in the story (the last, perhaps) had failed

The jester did not take fools gladly although he was one himself

The artist waited for the story to unfold (and ‘twas not a happy ending)

The mentalist should have foretold the events but cared for no-one’s health

They were ignorant, yet were one. Their lives gradually descending

A wise man once wrote, “The world’s a stage!’

But why are all the clowns are present in one part?

Blankness occurs when you turn the chapter, turn the page

And all of this for a livelihood, an art.

So…”If we shadows have offended,

Think on this and all is mended

They say, “The world’s your oyster” which is crude

As I, the fool, dislikes thy woeful seafood.”

With love,

DJM x

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