What is really in the mind is a farce
Or at least in the acting and its meaning
And we don’t do so bad except the sore
Which some say is due to having too much.
But never mind, the story is not about that.
The bill will arrive later at half past two.
The story will begin under a tree
Where a horse and his master are trapped.
Surrounded by renegades armed with hate
Emboldened by numbers in funny hats,
Some sneer, some laugh, ha, ha, like that.
Blind to justice, hard in haste, they advance.
Suddenly a voice from afar cries, "Wait!"
Heads turn to the bugle call, "Wayfarers!"
And handsome men, all born to be winners,
Mounted on horses, gallop past westwards.
An easy prey turned out to be the bait,
The cheap moral tale of a useless bard.
He wonders about lighthouses and beacons
Lighting the sea, just for a single boat.
Bevagna, 5 December 2011
