Mirrors, those revealers of the truth, are hated; that does not prevent them from being of use. -Victor Hugo, novelist and dramatist (26 Feb 1802-1885)

What Fools, These Mortals

Hester the Jester was not a protester,

but every semester she stood

Proclaiming the truth, and she fought, nail and tooth,

for the right and the ruth and the good,

And I really should mention her kindly intention:

dissension and strife she eschewed,

While meaning to find ways to open the mind

and the eyes of the blind, not be rude—

But whatever she meant with her selfless intent,

there began to foment quite a storm

Of objection to this, her good aims gone amiss,

dissertation destroyed by the norm

Of assuming one’s thought was aright and was not

to be questioned or brought ridicule,

Called privilege, might—for the mighty, a Right

to be right, day and night, was the rule—

Her well-meaning japes made the men feel like apes

and the womenfolk’s napes itch with ire,

And the moment arose when a number of those

tweaked her nose, set her hairpiece on fire,

Bashed her quite black and blue with a strop and a shoe,

swapped her lip balm with glue, stole her hat

With its jingling bells, threw her in prison cells

with appalling bad smells—and with that,

They ended her reign, in despite of the brain

and the might and the main she had shown,

And, as Jester no more, she was only a boor

who got kicked out the door on her own.

The moral, you ask? Keep your thoughts in a cask,

in a secretive flask of great tact,

And instead of Truth, Charm will prevent much alarm

and protect you from harm, and in fact,

Diplomacy’s best, whether true or in jest,

and at Hester’s behest, you should wait,

Your opinions held fast, silently, to the last,

lest your presence be past, and you, Late.