The clowns dance upon invisibility
their painted masks hide tears,
Do clowns not love
though misshapen?
Do their tears mean less
when falling from painted masks?
The moon will toll for one clown this night,
and all his tears will be the morning dew
trodden underfoot by crowds
who laugh in misery, failing to see
the beauty of sadness
hidden behind a laughing face.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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Great job! You captured the essence of a clown's life. There are ordinary people who clown around to hide their sorrow too. I gave it a ten even though it didn't show up. Spiritsong