The Secret Circus

Through a wooded thick in a forest of New England, There exists a secret circus called the Craft of Ringland. Meandering through a meadow one night before the forest's mouth, I heard a melody humming in the wind that whistled from the south. Following the tune towards the twine of trees and trickle of the dark, That poured atop the spray of endless trees, each caked in oaken bark. I followed a glowing footpath illumined by the moonlight's glistening fingers, Which led me betwixt branch and brush towards the timbre 'tween the timber. The music began to louden and grow as flickering lights snuck between two trees, Whose cirrus shadow limbs linked into an arch to mark the moonlit trail's apogee. Hopping off the trail to surreptitiously snipe a sight, Of what made the music I heard murmuring in moonlight. Beyond the archen branches their stood round and tall a red and purple circus tent, Whose canvas was embossed with celtic runes of which detail I could not have dreamt. As I stared in stupefaction at this phenomenal edifice, I heard a vociferous voice that I mistook as treacherous. It said "Hither traveler! Through the opening of the tent you go, And tell us how you see us, as we surely do not know." Fearing to reject such a request, I felt I had no other choice, But to tip-toe out o' my hiding spot towards the boisterous voice. Inside the tent there stood before me a large and dancing company of performees, Some clowns, musicians, jugglers, acrobats, animals, and even some bearded ladies. They laughed and jigged at the sight of me and even expressed curiosity, As to what or who I was while they performed their tricks with grandiosity. Emerging from the gay gaelic crowd was a gliding gentleman, Whose top-hat seemed to hover above where his hair began. His upper lip lived below the shade of a massive curly mustache, That I could not wear without feeling mortified, absurd or abash. He said with the voice I heard earlier "Welcome to the Craft of Ringland, Where we wait for those of whom can watch our wonders and shows so grand. I am the Ring Master, Malakie is what you may call me, Now tell me, boy, how is it that you found us, are you a genie?" To which I said "I am just a boy who heard your music from the meadow, And followed it through the woods and did not know there was a show." "Ah, but boys and girls of humankind cannot hear or see our show" Said Malakie, "so ye must be...different...than your peers, you blonde beau. Since you can see us we'll grant you a bit of advice, In words as to what you really are, we shall advise ye thrice. My own words for you are to learn to master all of what your guts might muster, For something in you thrives and shines more than the normal human lustre." With that, Malakie, walked away and returned with some sort of clown, Who wore a pointed hat with jingling bells to break all kinds of frown. He said "My name is Jauffre the Jester and here are my just gestured words, You must learn to laugh at life and failure for those who only cry are turds." I snorted and he danced away on his hands and joined the acrobats, And Malakie left to retrieve a bearded lady whose grimace would kill a rat. She said " My name is Bridget the Bearded Lady and I know my looks make you fidget, But my advice for you is to see beauty in all you see." And she left to go toss a midget. Malakie looked at me and smiled and his curling mustache wriggled, And he lifted his cane and the circus vanished, as I let out a teeny giggle.