Oh my, how they caught my eye and
captured my imagination, all decked
out in fancy flash of purple, yellow, red,
exotic birds flying in formation to the
syncopation of the big brass band.
The Primadonna performed her final feat
to the roar of the crowd: singles, doubles,
triples; a balancing ballerina, flying
high under the canvas sky.
Oh, how I thrilled to the ooh’s and ah’s
rippling through the audience, as over
the ropes she flew, her cape billowing high,
like a misplaced purple parachute.
Now, when I feel bolted to the ground,
full of doubt and desperation, I see
once more in my mind’s eye, a flash
of royal purple flying high.
My heart leaps up.
I hear the roar in that big tent
and I am born again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i meant to vote ten but my finger slipped...oops! born again into a world of clowns! ! !