Tuesday, March 06, 2007

#317: March 6, 2007

The Holy Fool rolled in from Dunlee Town
with crooked teeth and feathers in his beard.
He wore a dented stovepipe like a crown,
and from his weaving path the townsfolk cleared
each obstacle, as though they were afeared
of interfering in his holy quest.
The old folks all withdrew whene'er he neared;
the children pinned red ribbons on his chest.
Ma said she hadn't liked the way he leered
at her, as if the whole world were undressed--
but Papa thought him just a harmless clown.
Then finally, at the Constable's request,
we turned our backs and, as the sun went down,
over the rise the old man disappeared.

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