He started with the silver coin a-dancing,
Then bubbles, magically they turned to glass.
That card persistently appeared, entrancing
The young and old, alike. All drop their masks.
The balls a-popping in his mouth in rhythm.
The bowling ball is floating to the sky.
The brass band now invisible is playing
By mystic fairies, from a big box fly.
Great actors he creates out of small children.
Innocent games he plays so they relax.
His hands hide tricks and fuzzy red surprises.
His eyes communicate a secret pact.
He entertained our minds and stole our hearts.
Wit’s juggler never will betray his arts.
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