Play of life

The chairs they are so dusty,
Cobwebs wait in the wings,
The batons flies no longer,
Divas no more sing.

The audience a stifling breeze,
The applause from creaking chairs,
The backdrop  a mouldy freize,
Scurrying mice the players.

No hustle at the counter,
No hustle at the gates,
A House Full sign half torn,
A graying green room  waits.

Bats roost on the rooftop
The stalls are all unfilled.
Boxes devoid of beauties
None to bat an eyelid.

This the play of life,
At its very best,
When death becomes the compere
And lays me down to rest!


Daneel Olivaw

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