Volume > Issue > A Stage Exists Someplace

A Stage Exists Someplace


By James Hunter | January-February 1984

When players voices no longer ring,

A set becomes a shabby thing —

Forgotten dreams, an unreal town.

It’s time that we should pull it down.

But I pause to reminisce a while.

I said my lines with frown or smile,

To fit the action; but now it’s past.

My little victories could not last —

In barren disarray they lie

With all the dreams that passed me by.

I shudder at time’s implacable pace.

Yet I know a stage exists someplace

Where I shall say my lines again

And sing of things that might have been

Where nothing holy is cast away,

And secret dreams shall have their day.

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