The Pearl and the Fool
I rolled the pearl round my palm, through layers
of nacre, I saw the shade’s enchantment.
No grace needed to break the cursed layers.
Though drowning in magic, its argument,
malformed, made the spell’s body easily
broken–any street mage could have done it.
In the end, the fool had chosen poorly.
No doubt he tilted at Windmills, that fit
the desperate mindset of the patron
who’d bought the pearl to give to a child born
today, to adorn heels for its matron.
Fool lived on a precipice that grew corn.
His stupidity was immortalized
when in trade, he offered corn, caramelized.
For this week’s Wordle Me a Reverie prompt, the bolded words are from this week’s prompt.