Eglantine Heaps

I haven't done a poem in a while, so here is one.

* * * * *

There's no finer display than Miss Eglantine Heaps

Acrobat queen of the circus elites

No one can match her in high-flying feats

Aerials, pullovers, roundoffs and leaps

Everyone worships Miss Heaps, though in vain

Crowding the tent tight as frogs in the rain

Hoping to woo her with jewels and champagne

Snubbed, every time, with a sneer of disdain

She's too good for any of 'em.

There's no sadder display than the circus clown Chuckles

Slumped with despair and so down on his luckles

Weeps like his soul has been dragged through the muckles

Pulled every step by his bootstraps and buckles

The crowd hushes to hear Chuckle's car-a-mel tones

Crooning melodies sweet as pink strawberry scones

Songs of longing, of stardust, of candy-floss cones

And of custard cream pies that would never be thrown.

Husssssh

At the circus tent door hides Miss Eglantine Heaps

Tasting the song like rich candy-dipped treats

Holding it close as a baby chick's peep

Face etched with such longing

she almost looks sweet.