Tribute to Casimir (Petrarchan Sonnet)
He plays a fool (whose feast day nears approach),
yet all can tell with glance this travesty.
With silver tongue and feigned inanity
we’re rapt – within the tales. He dares to broach –
to mesmerize and tickle fancy’s poach
of pandering - with reckless, wanton glee.
We’re fallen past gate’s gullibility,
then buoyed again by fantasy’s encroach.
How then? Who called to witness, gilds our skies –
full blown with antiquated dare and doom?
None other than the jester, crown festooned.
Dear Harlequin, long master of disguise,
whose slated hand of artist weaves the loom
upon which worded tapestry is crooned.
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