Treasure Island

Lynne FincherSpringarden


The Jester


He pays dancing fines
And warms his hands
Over open fires
Assassin of care
And earthly desire

His hopes run high
Then tumble down
So far away
There on his cloud
The throngs pay homage
To one so proud

The Jester sits
In dark repose
Just why he smiles
No body knows

The Jesters prayer
Like diamonds and rust
Fall on deaf ears
As so they must

The day has come
They will proclaim
So fearful of
The Jesters name

Submitted: Wednesday, April 03, 2013
Edited: Friday, October 11, 2013

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