Clowns go out in style!

Was I early or merely late for the parade?
The floats were decorated
and I'd furnished some costumes--
witches, clowns, angels and brooms.
Forget the time,
where was the crowd
for the parade?
Where was the band, the music . . .
did the Shriners ever show?
Is this the time, place to go?
No horse, buggies,
no bands to play . . .
I am dismayed.
Where are the other people?
What's the purpose of this show?
"'Tis time, clown, for you to go."
Where was the voice?
How did I hear . . .
their words so clear?
I felt 'one' touch my elbow
then I could see around me,
a grisly group, harmony.
You cannot see--but Death's with me . . . gently sighing.
The guests alongside are strange--
all of them have 'passed' away--
going where I'm 'led' today.
I'm am marching
this lonely street
lacking heart beat.
The yarn wig upon my head
is now dripping scarlet red.
I see 'drops' behind . . . ahead.
This road is old
though new for me;
my last journey.
Clowns laugh until the end comes,
it's all they know how to do,
but, please, don't cry; don't be blue.
My son is near,
now it's quite clear,
I am done here.
I wasn't early nor was I late for the parade.
The parade was just . . . for one.