The sad clown
with pink fluffy hair
adorns my wall…
…tears stream down his face
past a big red nose and frown.

He is there because I colored him
on a day when I was only eight,
or maybe I was nine…
…too young to understand
but sensitive enough to know.

There because my father saved him
when, I am not certain,
why, I know for sure…
…the portrait so familiar
an illustration of his soul.

My God, I knew it then
as much as I know it now,
his tortured heart knew nothing…
…other than the longing
of that sad, fluffy clown.

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