The Maestro and his fool

What can I teach but oft falls on deaf ears: my own wisdom reflects a strength of years. If I could show the world its far-off course, then even fools would have no wit of course. (The maestro, sitting in the shade, permits his fool to speak, only what rightly fits.) "Master, by which road does the wild goose fly, that its home finds no other highway by?" "Well, fool" the maestro eased, "each cardinal flight which points the homeward one nay left nor right is really just an inward choice, once made leaves all his prior speculation bade." "You mean to say, as clubs are trumped by spades and as, by sun, the night draws lasting shades. When if, the queen of jewels meets her hearts' trump then would the pulse of sun in twilight thump." "Yes, that is very good, my fool, but do you realize often that no one's as true, nor true as straight, or straight as it must be. Like the arrow's feral velocity." "Oay, good master, what bowed weaponry? Were it not for hardened competency of oak or ash, or cherry strike us down, then by its valor am I your clown." "And yet, your thoughts are not far from the truth." "Aye master, even fools can speak for-sooth, and escape to the bright which darkness hides. "The captivity of thoughtless tides (of minds)," the maestro said, in awe, "what have we done? We've pulled the hammer back of death's bleak gun."