Maiden of fools / made enough fools

The jester to see you, m’lady, says a voice at the door 

So I turn from my letter, slip it into the drawer 

And set my eyes on this stranger in colourful suit 

In his arms, he’s cradling a sycamore lute 

He drops into a bow, extending one arm 

And gives me a grin that confesses his charm 

But I think at once I am seeing double 

For such a great likeness can only mean trouble 

I remember how swiftly he broke your young heart 

You’re now a shadow behind this rampart, 

Cloaked in ebony; the crow envies you 

More sullen, more silent you quickly grew 

He’d mounted his steed and taken rash flight, 

For the war, charging southerly that terrible night 

It was not long, few months, I’d say 

That we’d heard that your lover was taken away 

I’m a fool to believe that my only daughter 

Would be rid of her grief and know that a slaughter 

Had not taken place those five years ago 

And be returned to the man she dearly loves so

So I agree to spectate the jester’s display 

And hope he’ll vanquish my worries away 

His marotte dances, with its comical face, 

Likening to the sceptre he once embraced 

He would have been king had they not claimed him dead 

Those vicious advisers who’d wanted his head 

So they appointed his much younger brother 

For they could not control the mind of the other 

The jester leaps and spins in cartwheels 

A roulette of colours from head to heels 

Bright red poulaines and a cap and bells 

My sadness from before he quickly quells 

You enter the courtroom as he bows his head 

You’re no longer in black but in colourful thread 

Much like your lover who now turns his face 

And a blush rushes through you as you embrace 

I watch you now as you swing open our gate 

You turn and wave at me, your face elate 

No matter the five years that were ever so cruel 

Your lover came back to you and made you a fool

Written by Serina Welikala

In writing "Maiden of Fools / Made Enough Fools", I was drawn to the colourful, almost eerie character of the jester and began writing this poem of lovers gone by and a heartbreak that lingers. The maiden of fools is the central character who is observed by the narrator, a fool for believing that her only daughter can be happy again, and loved by the jester, a literal fool. There are enough fools made because each character is deemed a fool: the wishful-thinking narrator (mother), the literal fool (jester), and the fool in love (the daughter).