AT THE FOOL’S FAIR

A man I found lost in battle

Sowed with weakness, bearded and brittle

How sober, how fallen

How greatly bitter to time’s weapon



Won’t you tell me what rotten sins

Have flushed your life and flatten’d your grins?



"Drench’d in wealth,

I lived the poet’s mute and fancy theme

The king of the forest, Ah! The Wit at a fool’s fair

Pleased with the many garland of flowers that adorn’d my neck

And the false friends that were buried beneath my crest

I was pronounced the dreamer of my fair land

And though glory, shine and wealth are still mine for the keeping

When old age so painfully sought my famished soul

The fools that fed my tramper’d ego

Have sought newer fields for their seeds to sow

Now, Words exquisitely thought and politely penn’d

Cannot pride of my genius, misguided and stranded

But grace the periods of my poetic fall

Into solitude as true foes lurk beneath it all

To cripple my polish’d hands where once these thorns perch’d

As I fell into the spring from whence I forthright sprung

Lost, as my body tamed my mind, As my thoughts enslaved my will

As the one turned against the other, sober and fallen

Bearded and brittle, Indeed I am the lost man



Thus into this world was I born,

Buried safely amidst wholesome thorns

Sowed for solitude to scorn"

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