Filigreed shreds of last year's frock,
Flutter feebly on the fringe of floating applause.
An old lady now, flooded in footlights' flame;
Still the fragile smile.
Still the feathery wave.
Even in the final flourishing cadence of death:
As Final Bow melts into Opening Night,
And fading finger of memories beckons future bride.
HOPE takes her place in the spotlight.
Maureen Walsh - December 2010 ©