Gather yon children,
For a tale of woe,
Of fine scarves silken,
And cheapest Bordeaux.

Hear the soft music,
Smell the tobacco,
Awful acoustic,
And a great failed show.

Of an actress doomed,
And audience through,
Of her soul consumed.
No luck of horseshoe.

Hear her cry with mirth,
As she forgets time,
To establish worth,
And fall on the chime.

This lady of rhyme.
This lady of mine.