THE VILLAGE JESTER’S LAMENT

Forward we go, when the right moments beckon,

when the time’s right, to backtrack we are seen.

In all endeavours we are thus, I reckon:

– Not bad, not goodly.

Something in between.

Forever tempted by the unfamiliar,

we’re off to busk, to a world none too keen.

Half-way there, awe is lost, we’re left the sillier.

– Not ours, not strangers.

Something in between.

Our hand goes up. Then drops again quite weakly.

Now we’re on fire. Tomorrow chilled within.

Today we rail, tomorrow murmur meekly.

– Not live, not dead yet.

Something in between.