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
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