Jesters Poem by ENOCH JOHN

Seekers become finders
And finders usually become keepers;
Keepers of the rich heritage
Given freely to the sons of men
Who pitch their tents
Beyond the horizon of failure
And touch the everest of success.

Hope hath no strength then, if men didn't hope
Nor faith any wings if we didn't believe,
For without these stalwarts two
We become like a cloudless sky
Which in oblivion hangs
And as a dry ocean of meaningless thougjht
Nought of substance and vanity as our silly crown.
What a travesty of Royal rule
As adorned with pomp and pageantry
With ceremony as the rule of law
We celebrate our reign in mock solemnity.