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If it is I, who cannot act at all on stage You will behold, That when that curtain doth slowly fall I speak of a lover - Desperate fool, Whose words now seem to make sense to him Understanding every syllable and pause. Each 'But' and 'Sigh' are backed by real life, real loss The bells of truth now ring clear And make once false tears, Run down ones cheek. Drops of grief and fear And salty with release. Now, act I do not - But re-live and act out what I thought I had forgot.
(for Shiela)
8/7/07
7:47 AM
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