My mother's uncle was a circus clown
forever tripping up and falling down.
A circus performer through and through
who tried anything they asked him to.
With a tiny umbrella attached to his hat
and a blonde-haired wig under that.
A huge red nose that he honked so loud,
always brought a smile from the crowd.
Apart from that he never made a sound,
but the humour button he always found.
He made the most timid of children smile
by sharing his talent for ja little while.
But beneath the face of this funny clown
was one of anguish, sadness, and frown.
A tragic event struck the funny man's life
whilst performing with a throwing knife.
His hooded assistant was attached to wooden, rotating, frame.
Whilst he threw his knives with the greatest of aim.
The audience gasped, as he carefully threw every knife.
But in horror they saw his last blade bring an end to her life.
A lapse of concentration, a hesitant troubled mind?
An unfortunate twist of fate, that was so unkind.
It was then that he discovered that his throwing knife
had killed a last-minute replacement, his newly wed wife.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem