Sonnet 8: The New Jester

The words of the many came out to a new call, soon to be damned The words of the paper overtook the red ink and made the pages blue The results eventually would be the words and marks of the damned Oh! my, how did the cries of striped doves go into the air as they flew Over 240 counts for a person to become the new jester The mind of the stuttering fool destroyed the elephant’s long trunk Let us look and see how this person will fester Oh! Did all of us become oblivious to this funk? Stopping by the woods in the bleak mid-winter is better Especially than the fall of the autumn leaves The shop has the concern of the people from your letter There is no reason to sharpen your cleaves We are the reaper of our crop We must find the water to clean the shop