The jester danced with weary feet
his laughter hollow, incomplete.
His painted grin with a practiced art
yet sorrow weighed upon his heart.
The mime stood bright in silent cheer,
a world of joy both wide and near.
No words he spoke, yet all could see
a soul as pure as a bright melody.
They crossed one day beneath the audience
a fleeting glance, a solemn tune
the jester sighed; the mime just bowed
one lost in pain, one free and proud.
When the curtain falls
applauses arrive from the crowd
faces filled by both tears and smiles
with weeping laughter from all around.