April Elegy for a Tiptoeing Pierrot
The resting place of Tiny Tim
Is several miles away
From where I write this verse to him
On this his natal day.
A lasting presence on the scene
With his falsetto tones;
Laugh-In brought him to our screen,
YouTube to our phones.
The tulips which he tiptoed through
Are still beneath the ground
In April, not responding to
His high soprano sound.
The ukulele that he played
Is now forever still
For Tiny Tim is softly laid
Beside a Lakewood hill.
And when the Minnesota moon
Shines softly where he lies,
His voice is heard o’er Lake Calhoun —
And lovers wipe their eyes.
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