Who makes the clown laugh when he is down?

 When he’s depressed, who is there around?

 He spends all his time cheering up others

 Mothers, Fathers, Sisters and Brothers

 He puts on a front, he puts on a show

 But deep down inside, his own being is low

 He’s depended by people to brighten their lives

 Yet his own existence is full of trouble and strife

 He’s called upon by others when they have worries

 He humours them with jokes, actions and stories

 But when he’s alone, he starts to feel sad

 Isolation and loneliness makes him go mad

 His audience has gone, no one for a banter

 The repertoire of jokes he tells at a canter

 They’re no longer needed, there’s no one to tell

 He cries for attention, he’s going through hell

 When needing a lift, favours are not returned

 He calls for help but his pleas are spurned

 Sitting alone, he longs for true company

 The chatter of voices, the sound of a symphony

 He can’t raise himself, his efforts are wasted

 So he sits and cries for the joy he once tasted

 Who makes the clown laugh when he is low?

 That is the question, for I do not know.

Copyright 

J W Austin 2006