Relentless, his jokifying
Went on non-stop,
Made traffic halt and Aspens quake.

Encouraged by the slightest chortle,
A guffaw sent him off in mirthic ecstasies,
Stepping not too lightly on the trillium.

His prized possession, the Motley’s cap,
Always kept at the ready, rarely worn,
Showed signs of fabric fatigue.
Not only folded, crushed, and stapled,
It groaned of humor burn-out.

Shakespeare and Henny Youngman might have paused,
Seeking fresh material,
But the run-of-the-mill laughter
Would  pass by, unimpressed, in April or in any other month.

Hard as he tried,
Fool just couldn’t keep the funny-side alive,
So hat in hand, last joke in his back pocket,
He fell off the edge of the earth,
Sliding silently through time
Past the giggles  of the universe.