Droddy Pype is the name. Have a tale? I can up it.
I’m a maker of fine minstreling.
I use puppets as props, or a prop as a puppet
which I show before peasant, priest, and king.
Among kings I myself am that royalty rare:
king of men? No, I’m king among jesters.
Kneel before Drod.
Take a sec, look around, and you’ll find everywhere
many worsters and none are my besters.
Now I know some who fear that there’s not enough depth
in the shallows of some foolish jape
but as any fool knows it’s a finely turned jest
that can reach and grab truth by the nape.
If the tongs of my wit and the hammer of my tongue
give a pinch or a punch or offend
it’s to tap your mind’s cask and to knock out the bung
take what’s straight and give it a good bend.
If your beliefs can’t be shaken and they’re all that you’ve got,
if revelation of truth is your fear
then walk on—by all means—hurry away and do not
let my words sink their hooks in your ear.
But if deeper unveiling of delicate truths
is a thing that you think you can bear,
won’t you please step right up, have a seat at my booth.
Life’s an onion: let’s peel off a layer.