by Mary Audrey Kneipp
I walk the planks of that old stage
And gaze into an audience of
Phantoms, waiting patiently
In ancient rows of crimson seats.
I say the lines I’ve learned to say,
I play the scene, I wring it dry!
I listen then to soundless clapping
And the phantoms’ silent cheers,
And as I bow a second time
I wonder: do I haunt this place,
And have I been here all these years?