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The JesterThe Jester
The curtain draws, the stage is set,
For the travelling dancer, jester, he's yet,
Prances forth, with confidence full,
And begins his act, all else annulled.
Colours twisting in the air,
You cast a glance, but he's not there.
His limits of skill, the jester meets,
In spirals, back flips, turns and leaps.
He holds the crowd with a paralysing spell,
The children, too, their interest tells,
All are stunned at his daring tricks,
Not seen before, an exotic mix.
His hat adorned with many bells,
Of happy times the sweet sound tells,
A break from hunger, and tiring work,
To see this actor, from task they shirk.
'He has a gift!' is said by one
The cry taken up, none to shun,
The talented performer on his stage,
Gold coins thrown, they are his wage.
The dancer slows, and takes his bow,
A tale to be told, of the jester, long from now.
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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