Ever Yet The Fool Poem by Jackie Allen

Squire mocked the assemblage. Asserted his fame
With slights of his fire-forked tongue's foul-flame.
With face painted like some ghost of insight...

Squire passed judgment with malicious delight.

He forgave never, nor ever thought he ought.
Squire never was ready to admit his faults.
His essence unsavory, much like a ghoul...

Ever yet stubborn: Squire, the pompous old fool.

Free-formed, far-flung, with naked disregard,
Squire cared not for any whom he had scarred.
He held little charm with the few he knew...

Yet he hath become the Bard's favorite shrew.