The dancer slows her frantic pace

In pain and desperation,

Her aching limbs and downcast face

Aglow with perspiration



Stiff as wire, her lungs on fire,

With just the briefest pause --

The flooding through her memory,

The echoes of old applause.



She limps across the floor

And closes her bedroom door...



The writer stare with glassy eyes --

Defies the empty page

His beard is white, his face is lined

And streaked with tears of rage.



Thirty years ago, how the words would flow

With passion and precision,

But now his mind is dark and dulled

By sickness and indecision



And he stares out the kitchen door

Where the sun will rise no more...



Some are born to move the world --

To live their fantasies

But most of us just dream about

The things we'd like to be



Sadder still to watch it die

Than never to have known it

For you -- the blind who once could see --

The bell tolls for the