The clown is painting his face, so white, and gazing in the mirror. Slowly he’s appearing there, and recognizing what he is. The grease he lays on thick; he spreads the red lipstick. A smile in the glass, a grin that isn’t meant. So happy is the clown that lives upon his face.
A bit of glue to hold the nose, he tucks his hair under the wig, and now he’s ready to appear:
Come down, come down,
come dance with the clown.
Come down, don't frown,
the circus is in town.
Come down, and we’ll paint your face too.
Tale Told 