He could make any child laugh without a stop,

He had such wit, uniquely his own crop.

His face painted and a violin in his grip,

It sounded so-so, yet drew laughter from the lip.

Deep down, however, he was filled with gloom,

Thought painting his nose was a ridiculous costume.

He preferred the thrill of a death-defying leap,

And longed instead to be

A tightrope walker, hearing cheers

On the stage,

Instead of constant laughter near.

He never grasped his vital role,

Unaware how he filled so many souls.

If he were gone, the circus would end,

It could never be the same without his violin’s bend.

But he continued to dwell in his despair,

Seeing his painted nose as a silly affair.

Still dreaming of the trapeze’s dance,

He aimed

To be a tightrope walker, to hear

Applause on the stage,

Rather than laughter’s endless cheer.

It was a cold, wintry morning fair,

After a practice session filled with air,

He couldn’t take it anymore,

Climbed the high bar to explore.

Standing aloft, vertigo took its toll,

And there were no nets below, none at all.

He felt almost nothing when he fell,

The returning tamer was the first to tell.

His life was saved, but a month later they’d say:

“Everything’s ended,

The circus has shut away,

No children come to watch today.”

Now he lives retired, somewhere on the fringe,

Bound day and night to his wheelchair’s hinge.

It seems at last he’s come to terms with his fate,

Even play his violin, sometimes quite late.

The children visit him, bringing him joy,

Seeing them approach, he’s like a boy.

He paints his nose when they draw near,

And if one mocks, his reply is clear:

“I would be wretched,

It would be my fault,

If I failed to fulfill the mission I was taught.

For though I was a failure, know

I am a clown by trade, from head to toe.

Judge me kindly, for God’s decree

Crafted me this way, let me be.”