The music has stopped, the curtain is drawn,
the last line is now delivered.

The words of the play, the soul of his song,
continue to be considered.

The Actor was good, he pulled us all in,
his success is easy to gauge.

Is he still there? Be still and listen,
for the shadow up on the stage.

I tried to do it, to be just like him,
this Actor I so admired.

He helped me along, through bright lights and dim,
And always kept me inspired.

The roles got tougher, we were not lacking,
we both were now earning our wage.

He was an actor, I was just acting,
Like the shadow, now on the stage.

To share with others, he turned to teaching,
to helping those who sought him out.

To learn for himself, he turned to reaching,
and seeking to answer his doubts.

I watched from afar, this tutor of mine,
he learned every word on his page.

We walked far apart, but always in rhyme,
that shadow, and me, on the stage.

The scene is not through, his role not complete,
when the Producer calls his name.

The patrons scream "Foul", for none can compete,
the play, it just won't be the same.

His first student knows, though tries not to say,
the questions, the pain and the rage.

The Actor left this, when he went away:
left me, his shadow, on the stage.

What will we do now? The Actor is gone.
Will someone move into his place?

Can someone be found, to go it alone?
Will 1 fight his fight, run his race?

The answer is "No", for it will take 2:
Those students the youngest in age.

His first pupil smiles, now slightly off cue,
at three shadows left on the stage.

Wednesday, April 28, 1993
Written by the first student
of Dr. A. Dain Samples,
his little brother.

Related readings:
Mad At Dad
Up The Road A Piece
Catching A Dream