Last Song

The curtain hangs as it for years has hung
The choir leaves when its last song is sung

I left this school so many years ago
My feeble dances danced, and my songs sung

With bitterness and enmity of heart
I cast aside the songs I’d learned and sung

The enmeshed harmonies I shoved aside
The matchless joy I felt whene’er we sung

The music of young voices has no peer
The landscapes we created as we sung

But with the last song’s end, I turned my back
Upon the place where these red curtains hung

And choked alive a part of who I am
For grief of knowing, our last song
Was sung

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Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

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