  On a gossamer thread Of light that stretches From dark to dark Over the void We giddily jig To the mad music The Master makes. From the Green Room He calls us forth, Sensitive puppets, Live automata, And with a gesture Sets us jerkily Dancing the tightrope. From a seat in the stalls Of the cosmic theatre Silently He watches our antics. When we call to him 'Master, Master! Help, we are falling!' Out of the darkness Comes no word ....Only a chuckle. |
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