I saw a woman cleaning, sweeping by
the entrance to the hall where I perform.
She wouldn’t glanced in my direction. Shy
perhaps, or so engrossed in work, and worn
from working lengthy hours for little pay
and no applause. I quickly rushed on past,
my state of self-importance in the way
of seeing her for who she was. The last
are told that they will be the first someday
and I might find my stage grows somewhat small.
It could be that I’ll never even play
and years of training not be good at all
for my new life in heaven. In that age
I might be sweeping as she takes the stage.

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