Act

The early morning herald
Ruffles his feathers
And summons in the Sun
For today's act in the never-ending play.

And there will be many scenes,
And a multitude of sets,
For the Audience of one
In the farce that will unwind all day.

And, like staring into a mirror
With a billion faces,
The Audience eternal
Will see but Himself perform
The pathetic roles of this endless tragedy.

And, crushed on the boards, empathy will lie;
And He will shake His hoary head and sigh:
What have I done?

Then the star-speckled curtain
On our show of sin will fall
And not a clap will be heard, but a pall
Of horror will the theatre dim.
And, with bleary eyes and gritted teeth,
Our Audience grim
Will sit and sweat and wait
For the next act to begin.