Bathed in misty fire glow,
It slowly slips out of character
Before the end of the days performance

Cloaks of grey cloud hang
Like attendants in the wind
Waiting to gently spread their arms,
And signal that the evening
Is on it's way.

Bur first, the reddened artist
Peeks from between the dusty layers
And makes a final curtain call,
Warming to the smiles of the audience
Bathed in it's glory.

Then it bids farewell,
And slides backstage to rest awhile,
Until dawn heralds
Another golden monologue.

© 1991