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In a nearby town, there lives a clown
whose laughter fills the air,
and in crowded places, with his painted faces
he shocks with skill and flair.
Through a comic fall, and tales grown tall,
those watching delight with glee,
to forget their worries, of bills and moneys,
as the clown performs for free.
For ten short days he had shared his ways,
from the square of that known town,
and the sisters and mothers and fathers and brothers
applauded each time he fell down.
And as waning light, gave way to night
the clown concluded his act,
with a dance and a song, and a story not long,
it was time to fulfil their contract.
For each time he sang or fell with a bang,
he’d given the people such joy.
And it was only right that they reward, in light,
of his efforts which thrilled girl and boy.
So the clown lay his hat, near where he sat,
hoping the townsfolk would show
their kindness and thanks, for all foolish pranks,
are worth more than many can know.
But as the folk passed, including the last,
few pennies fell in the hat.
And the clown looked on, with a sad little song,
knowing that that, was that.
The following day, so many say,
was the darkest the town ever knew,
for many of those who’d watched the clown’s shows
had vanished, and left only few.
In warm bedrooms where, the missing took care
to sleep and dream and be still,
there was found something strange, a sort of exchange,
for body, and mind, and for will.
On each empty bed, where once rested head,
a piece of torn cloth could be seen,
the colours were rich, yet raggedly stitched,
and one prankster it could only have been
And while townsfolk grieve, without reprieve
at their loss of loved ones gone,
the clown packs his things, of tricks, jokes and strings,
and to your town, he now moves on.
Credit: Michael Whitehouse