GloPoWriMo2019 Day Three

Today we recount the life of a fool.

Born into an old house, resplendent with dark polished oak,
And burnished silver, dancing light from oil lanterns
Scurried and hurried to carry the news.
Raised in an old nursery, where nanny was starched and stiffened,
And her breathing played a backing track to a life
Of isolated privilege.
Taught in an old school, with masters whose gowns carried chalk
And blackboard rubbers in the swinging sleeves,
And who wielded a ready cane.
Educated in an old university, where the polished oak was sported
Or not, and where the days were spent on the river,
And reading was a rare thing.
Employed in an old trade, where discipline was exercised
Exactly as it had been by nanny in the old nursery,
And privilege was essential.

The old ways of the fool have meandered from pillar to post
Over many years, decades, even centuries of traditions that
Have lead to the day when the fool is in charge.
And then the fool is the one who considers all others
To be fools, and who laughs behind the closed doors of
And old and corrupted way of not living.

(c) 2ndwitch, 03/04/19