Poem -



As the jester stands his ground and slowly mounts his throne, the gypsy stands quite slouched - while his workers gather frowns.
The jester towers over
every little clown.
The gypsy lies alone -
bewildered by the sound.

So as they gathered lessons -
in the sun's bright orange glow,
the tears became the seeds of trust - only trusting in their selves.

The second saw the coming,
the first he learnt to need.
The third was never mentioned..
for his success was greed.


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