Member Rara Avis
This falls within that unusual category: a question I never thought to ask, but an answer I've always sought to find. Wondeful Job!
The eyes of the mime are cold and intense,
A stare both vacant and proud;
His look is sheathed in shades of diffidence,
His semblance to enshroud.
The lips of the mime are silent and dead,
Unmoving, unmoved, unmet;
The sound of his smile is left unsaid,
The touch of his voice unspent.
His face a mask, his demeanor a sham
His words unspoken untruth,
Yet the mute mime remains an epigram
Of man's remembered youth
The clowns, you see, exist for our progeny
In the big tent of the circus;
And if clowns exist for our progeny,
Then mimes are for the rest of us.
See not the unsmiling lips and icy eyes,
And hear not the silence after.
Look instead as the mime hypnotizes
And listen to the laughter.
[This message has been edited by Ron (edited 06-13-99).]