A Joke.

He was going to be the clown,
The joker he was to be,
Face paint and a stolen red nose,
And with a dead reindeer buried in the closet,
He set out to plunder the land of glee.

When he walked the plank,
He fell into a glass of water.
He waged a war to capture the hill,
The ants defeated him still.
Yeah, he is pretty funny,
But is he a joker or a joke is he?

Chased by the bandits,
He hid behind a scrawny bush,
It hid his toes pretty well,
The rest is an immortal joke.

What is he doing?
Running around in circles,
Is he trying to collide with himself?
Well, let's wish good luck to him.

Now, we step into his house,
A dilapidated shanty it is.
There he sits in front of a broken mirror,
The candlelight illuminates his face for us to see.
Rivulets of bleary brown scar the white face.
Are those tears we spy?
Creepy.
They go so well with that fixed smile of his.

The joker turned into a joke.
By candlelight his baritone turned into a squeak!
We love him still!
Don't we?
For be he a joker or a joke,
He can make our troubles flee!