Grimace of the Clown

Halfway through

This wretched winter,

I think of friends, down.

Lucky think they of me,

But, I too have seen

The grimace of the clown.

One I've known now lives

Beyond reality, locked

From this world so bitter.

He rang from his asylum,

Spoke of beautiful flowers.

Broken, but no quitter.

The rest of us talk

In hushed whispers, some

Shocked. Me, I fear.

"There but for the grace

Of higher things go I,"

Inside my brain I hear.

Please can't we change

This act in centre ring?

These clowns aren't funny,

                                    anymore.