Pacing The Stage

I loved him as a son, undaunted

By the rants and taunts of youths rebelling.

Viewing with pride, the proud boy, unbridled,

Tall, handsome, knowing, wrathful and loving.

This boy of mine, all mine, in challenging

Meeker souls to compete, live and love life.

This hard role was cast by fate and my wife,

Through the long years, plotless in enacting,

An uneasy role, no learned lines, life!

Then in a flash his curtain fell, No bow.

No encore and no review.  Cold sorrow!

Our comedy a tragedy,  and now?

I pace the stage and await the rising,

Of my young stars and their happy endings?

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