‘T was the night of sad ballads at the circus. All guests sat still, silently waiting for the flutes.
Fornicating violinists, violists and a viola de gamba player
Pluck, plunk, plink and titter,
Tenderly tuning in time.

The sole, silvery white wand waves.

Curtains close on the smashing silhouettes stumbling slowly,
Surreptitiously in the darkness.
Dancing delectably in the rain.
Running ravenously and reaching for sparkling stars,
Tragic tales howl horrifically and tell of two tunes contending,
Cooperating in counterpoint in time.