The Dancing Fool Poem by Robert Hilary

The meloncholy melody of the dancing fool, takes his steps aloof upon the circle in which he draws with his dancing feet in the dust of all that he has wrought with a captivated mind and a foolish grin, with lust and ador he twirls and spins, upon the ground and through the winds, of the ever shifting tides of fate, through which in his mindless foolish gate, he proceeds to dance wittingly upon the path, with a laugh that beckons the wise to join in and dance, as he twirls and spins, in a never ending dance upon the dust, in his foolish passion and his whimsical lust, ever robust, he is a creature of folly, a misfit a fool, a hypocrite a false prophet, he is the gazer, the wonderer, the meizer, he jests, he does not simply call to the noble and the wise, he welcomes them as guests, as he dances and prances about in glee, laying his many crowns down before the many, that they may pick and choose which one to wear, for he is but a fool, yet he is always fair, he runs and jumps in his dance so proud, he cackles and jokes, with laughter loud, as he dances in the dust in a circle upon the ground, who can truly judge, the mystery of a meiseure, with a fools heart profound, and as he steps lightly with baffled grace in the face of those who would know their place, he dances with flourish, a frenzy of art, his foolish grin leading the way, for his whimsical heart, as the fool he plays his part, singing like a lark, and all are baffled and bemused, some ignorant, some arrogant, some confused, and the fool just smiles it all away, as he casts his lot with the tides of fate, and walks in the dust upon his destiny, bemused, bewildered by the dance of destinies tune, and as he stumbles in jest, and catches the crowd, he bows to the applause of a silent crowd, and the standing ovation is one of deep profusion, harkened to the depth of the fools illusion, as with a silly grin he twirls and spins, in a foolish dance, in the dust, his robust steps a folly of love, and the meisurely fool knows no bounds, as he is confounded and surrounded, by the sights and the sounds, of a world lost on his charm, though surely with a smile he can disarm, the pride and prejudice of the crowd. Such is the delight, the delicate dance of the fool. With a fools smile, a fools laugh, a fools rules. For the fools pockets are for the rare of heart, the fools gold, cherished by those of kindred spirit, who hail, the meisurely dancing jester as a king, for he is the mystery of the fool. And in his humble heart, truth rings, as the melancholy melody, of the dancing fool