Drums

Just a poem

Drums

Some, join bands

To play the drums

Some, try to hide

The sun with thumbs

Some, celebrate

For being fools

Then graduate

As fools, from schools

Some, lead nations

And think they're smart

With qualifications

Worth in a dustcart

Where do we stand

In a puzzling maze?

In scrambled numbers,

Of years, and days.

The sound, fools make,

Beating the drums,

Is louder when going,

Than when it comes