At the Ritz PlayhouseSomething is going to happen, though the theateris not like the picture. The velvet seats are tired,and torn in a place or two. The nose says mildew and everything says age. Yet there is a stage.There is a curtain and something will happenwhen it rises. We know more or less what we will see: a few men and women, some of whose daily roles are insurance agent, lawyer, speech therapist,will act in a play the insurance agent directed.Sometimes the play is tired. It will not be new. Yet all will do their best, and together theywill make something happen. Some have done sofor thirty-nine years. We do not expect to be trans
I am so brittleI am so brittle I could crackand fall in pieces at your feet.Sweep me off into the corner - all I want to do is sleep.I am so hollow I could meltinto a smaller puddle thanyou might expect to see. No need to step on me -I only want to sleep.Is there a code I have to crack,is there a solid I should melt? Give me the key and raise the heat -let me sleep!
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Winter BluesI went down to the orchardand I shook the apple tree.I went down to the orchardand I shook the apple tree.But it was the dead of winter,no fruit came down for me.I remember when the winterwould come and it would go. I remember when the winterwould come and it would go. But it hangs around my house now,like it does not have a home.No bare feet in the daytime,no kind word on the street.No bare feet in the daytime,no kind word on the street.I exchange those chilly glanceswith everyone I meet.Could I even face the springtimeif it should come one day?Could I even face the springtimeif it sh