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.