The Knave Of Bells

chief of disguise collector of masks the King wears his as a helmet to scare off enemies the fool with false nose the jester in chains remains in oubliette singing in his screams impossible to forget the old men who come from the sea and steam in cold of Poseidon spray salt and fish from waves likely alone are the women and wives of sailors so long as they have not turned to traitors, bakers or smiths the loves who are steadfast never safe from a day when their hearts do not return fading to old maids all in the name of heartbreak the Queen is tired of the Knave of Bells his complaints so needless and vain, checking his hair in the mirror she is exhausted left to remain as consort to the pain in her heart for the King is away not likely to return.