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The Trilph is a delicate creature;
He’s less than the size of a flea,
Yet he’s perfectly formed; every feature
As handsome as handsome can be.

He worked in a travelling circus;
He trained all the acrobat fleas.
With a crack of his whip, they would hop and they’d skip,
And they’d even cavort on their knees.

There was one that he loved to distraction -
The ringmaster’s daughter, no less.
On the flying trapeze, she was queen of the fleas,
But the Trilph was too shy to confess.

One evening, there came a disaster:
The maintenance fleas were on strike,
So they’d called in some ticks, who omitted to fix
The trapeze that was hung from a spike.

The ropes that supported her crumbled;
The crowd were all holding their breath;
The structure gave way, and she tumbled
To what would have been certain death.

But he ran to the spot, and he caught her;
She literally fell in his arms!
He eloped with the ringmaster’s daughter;
They’d fallen for each other’s charms.

Their children were small but athletic;
A tumbler, a juggler, a clown.
And so they decided, though sceptics derided,
To bring their own circus to town.

At last, they were ready to open;
The banner was proudly unfurled
“See the miniature fleas riding bareback on bees -
It’s the tiniest show in the world!”

But time runs away like a robber ...
The words on her gravestone are these:
In death as in life, my adorable wife,
And the queen of the flying trapeze