Wearing a battered suit and shoes jaded
He sat on a bench with nowhere to go
With a suitcase bearing letters faded
From a circus that closed down long ago
Underneath red clouds and a setting sun
Eyes red, teeth crooked, he sits all alone
With magic tricks that were second to none
And an intelligence that’s now unknown
He’s not a freak. He’s a friendly Merlin
And there was a time when he made laughter
But he got left behind – the truth’s burnin’
As he lights a match for his last sparkler
With suitcase in hand, he went on his way
To go and find a place where he could stay
14th December 2004
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