Folly

Father Time must have himself a great cackle at clocks.
Absurd men who thought they’d caged him with their ticking locks.

Mother Nature must weep from laughing at landscaping.
Their flowered sod pasted on her wounded flesh gaping.

Father Christmas must chortle at his season’s cold greed.
All gluttony & wanting; with rarely a met need.

The long since heroes must be roaring over our wars.
None spared, none gained & recorded in casualty scores.

That truly skinny man with a blade & a pale horse.
He laughed first, still laughs & will have the last one…of course.