Jest

The days of lore,
my time, is past.
The witches spell,
their evil they cast.

As I trudge upon the quay
to board my boat.
Alligators roam in
the crocodiles' moat.

As fire burns
the castle to the ground.
I tiptoe in the forest
without a sound.

As silent as the night
but the tremors, they rock.
The rationale is lost
and him, the people mock.

As tired as the
four legged sloth.
I stare in disgust
at the four winged moth.

As shadows
upon a silent hill,
my name just a memory,
just run off the mill.

As finally
I am laid to rest,
my life nothing
but another jest.