She is the pistachio in the eyes of the public,
The blithe spirit.
Not in the circus but reality.
Toyed in the world full of selfish desires,
A marionette is obliged to give sprightliness to it.
Her masquerade of smile at no time ceased,
And she will never forsake her shield of laughter.
The happiness she inoculated wears her out
But she has nowhere to aver her gall,
For these are her lines of work.
She knows but the dictations of her superiors,
And the hypnosis that the joy she induced is the wage.
She no longer remembers who she once was;
It was taken away years ago.
The Clown, she was a child erst,
Who can make her heart smiles again?
