The Bard

Pull up a Bard from the deep well of time:

he’ll upset a market stall – end to end –

face like an apple and eyeballs that swim

with a love for the sea, and song, and land.

Let’s pray he’ll unearth our divinities,

vibrate with truthfulness, word made flesh

and we’ll laugh at the Fool’s juggling throws;

troubadour, genie, granting a wish

but keep (under wrapping) your silences;

don’t let him question your deeper passion;

don’t let his eyeballs poke out your sadnesses,

panning for gold at the edge of the sun.

His weirdness is love - more heaven than hell

and a jester’s a sage and - so - all will be well.