See the Juggler, watch his skill, marvel at his craft

Mesmerizing people with his prestidigitation,

Balancing three flaming batons twirling overhead

Circling in unsteady rotation.

Can the audience conceive the hardship of his task?

All are blind to what lies underneath this work of art,

Magic molding of three separate batons into one,

Three single flames that burn within his heart.

Baton one is fire red, with smaller flames now growing,

He throws it brutally but with an absolute precision,

It never falls to ground his style is practised and unique

He knows he cannot suffer a collision.

Baton two is black, it burns alone and not so bright

He throws this one the highest and the furthest of them all,

The others rotate swiftly as his nimble fingers ply their trade

And never let a single baton fall.

Baton three is brown, the newest of the trio in mid-air,

His favorite of them all, it still burns ardently, a light

A passion not yet dulled by time and tide and repetition,

He lives a trinity of love's delight.

Behold the Juggler! Three times married! Three wives home awaiting,

Hoping that he will return, can make it home tonight,

Three believing his Love is for them and them alone,

Some day all three batons must ignite...

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