The stage cried to the darkness,
“Oh, whither is the show,
There was a pretty ballerina,
That I did come to know,
The feeling of her footfalls,
The light upon her hair,
The grace of every movement,
For she was very fair.”
The darkness chuckled at the stage,
“She is long gone,” he said,
“Performing in some other shows,
On other stages does she tread,
Forget her and forget her show,
For others will perform,
King Lear is next, just think of it,
You host a powerful storm!”
“I'm sorry my friend,” the stage replied,
“But I no longer like that play,
And still I wish my ballerina,
Had never gone away...”
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