Ploughman Homeward Plods His Weary Way And No Birds Sing - Cento Per Cento Cento Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

She has heard a whisper say
time's climb shall_lottery homage pay.
The mist has left the mountain grey,
for climate change communiqué
statistics show mad c[r]ow[d]s were led astray.
Though ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
fair promise fails faced with crass quoldibet,
and his is henceforth an established sway,
Time witness bears to beings' brief buffet
and dayly spectacle of sad decay.

The lone and level sands stretch far away,
facts lack to show all friends life's holiday.
Does the road wind uphill all the way?
Clock ticks downhill till rigor mortis prey!
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay?
Rose smells as sweet without man's interplay.
Elf and fay and sprite at play?
departed forever and a day.
There in bright drops the crystal Fountains play
till drought spells ill well which slaked Robin Jay.

I lay down in the heat of day
dishevelled, clothes in disarray,
thoughts lost to dismay
that little could allay,
yet knowing how way leads on to way,
Fate winks, linked fingers beckoning weigh.
Life's chance dance braid, parade ballet
Time, you old gipsy man, will you not stay
to hear a jackass bray
who'd future scope betray
while met in mortal fray.
Secure within, wins execution's stay,
Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today!
fall guys believe in Cupid's bow display.

Go, songs, for ended is our brief, sweet play,
fall guys believe in Cupid's bow display,
and we’ll strive to please you every day
though one can't please all folk faraway.
'If this were only cleared away'!
oiled wheels roll, pipeline role must piper pay,
to inarticulate murmurs dies away
plaintive compaints fade from life's cabaret
and no birds sing:
Time, there's thy sting!
I must now conclude my lay.

Judge reader I myself obey!