In motley garb of red and gold, With bells that chimed through courts so cold, He danced from dusk till dawn, While kings grew fat and peace was gone.
They laughed at jest, at song, at spin— But few saw all the work within: The sleepless nights, the bruised-up feet, The mind that made the cruel seem sweet.
With every bow, with every pun, He juggled more than pins for fun— He juggled tempers, pride, and war, And stitched up rifts not seen before.
No throne he sought, no crown he wore, Yet calmed the wrath that burned the floor. For while the court saw painted cheer, He saw what none would hear.
He mimed the truth, he veiled the pain, He danced through hunger, grief, and rain. Though laughter cloaked his silent ache, He bore it all for duty's sake.
So toast not just the crown or knight, But he who turned the dark to light— A humble soul with jester's grace, Who hid his heart behind a face.
