Classic Poem

I live with my father's sister
In a little wooden house in the Bronx
Far from the rainbow glitter
Of Broadway.
My father is a clown
In Barnum and Bailey's circus,
And travels most of the year
On the road.
He is billed from coast to coast
As the funniest clown on earth.
When he steps into the sawdust ring
The tent shakes with maddening applause like thundering skies
On a summer's day.
They know little who watch him
Tumble and trip, jest and skip,
As a painted fool in scarlet and green,
The thoughts that are passing
In his dazzled brain,
For he still sees before him
A wonderful woman, my mother,
Who used to ride
A fine white horse, stepping to martial strains,
At the head of the pageant,
" The Triumph of Peace. "
One night in Toledo
She fell from her horse,
And died two days later
In a hospital there.
Whenever my father is home on a visit
He sits in his room by himself
Reading for hours
The Bible and " Hamlet. "
How many times have I heard him repeat
Those mysterious lines,
" To be, or not to be! "
I often think that clowns
Are the saddest people