I won’t be laid to rest.
I’ll lay myself down, thank you,
With no pretense of rising again,
All my rising and resting through.
When these curtaining eyes have closed
And this body lies long and still,
I’ll linger yet on the stage
Till after all have gone,
All but the boy in the third row,
The one who looks just like me.
To him I’ll give my solemn, final bow,
And a wink,
Before nodding to the balcony
For the last light
To be brought down.

*****

Enjoy more acclaimed Quent Cordair poetry & short fiction in My Kingdom, now available in paperback and Kindle editions.

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