The curtains have been lifted, and life’s play shows
I stand in gape at that one character filled with merry days and joy sparkles
And as the drummer’s palm knows the flatness of his wood
He dances in welcome beats and piles up his gifts into a tower
Each step defined by the grins and applauds of his audience.
But then the music stops; and he stand in tranquil
His eyes are clear of time and his countenance show the delineate of loss
His breathe is still and his audience groan
And as the flute player’s lips caress the warmth of his wood
And the curtains are drawn in close of life’s tragedy.