Traveling
Fool
The
Fates are stirring the cauldron up
For
what I cannot tell
Such
are those who cannot see
Their
own handiworks and perversities
Chant
and cackle, you witches of destiny
And
dark Parcae of dreams
Or
is it chance that you prefer?
Old
bones you rattle with a strife
To
shape the changes in my life
Ah,
but I will laugh the laughter
Of
one who knows
The
passing advantage pain employs
And
whether it is chaotic or meaningful track
What
does it matter?
All
that concerns this traveling fool
Is
that she will do what she must do
While
they, three babbling sisters blind
Direct
my course in secret mime.
Copyright
© J. Linn Rose