Dear Prince Hal has breathed his last.
He leaves behind a storied past.
Some Hits, some flops, but mostly glory,
Like” Company” and “West side Story”
He gave us” Phantom” at his height
with its sweet music of the night.
He worked with Sondheim; He mentored Weber,
How glorious was their work together.
Let the lights dim on every Broadway Marquee
To honor this, his timeless legacy.

The names of the suspects are covered in ink,
leaving us not knowing what we should  think.
Here we have Mueller, whose words were redacted,
saying sitting POTUSes cannot be indicted.
Despite spending Millions and  two years of time
No proof of Conspiracy was he able to find.
" No Collusion!!" Trump tweets time after time.
Ignoring Obstruction which may be his crime.
Imagine the scene at Biden's inauguration
when his opponent is dragged off for incarceration.
Unless he's impeached first for this offense
and we all have to suffer under President Pence.

It was already late when we approached my friend’s front gate.
The Sun was setting in the western sky.
“Our days grow imperceptibly shorter now.” He observed.
“Yes, we’re past the Solstice.” was my reply.
I put my weight upon my cane as I ascended his front steps,
And caught the sight of two old men reflected in a window’s glass.
“Our days grow shorter” I agreed.

I’m not sure if he noticed, but
I’d omitted “imperceptibly”.

Mel Stottlemyre walked out to the mound,
where Jim Bouton nervously kicked the rubber.
“Bulldog, the manager sent me to take you out,
You’re headed for the shower.”
“One more batter and I’d have earned the win.”
Jim Bouton said with sorrow.

“You’ll have another chance real soon”
Mel told him as they were departing,
“There’s a doubleheader tomorrow at Elysian Fields,”
“and I heard we’ll both be starting!”

There is puppy love and Eros,
There’s Agape, the love of God.
Then there is that sort of Love
That always struck me as odd.
They call it unrequited Love,
The saddest Love of all.
One whom passion has inflamed;
the other ,not at all.
Much better to have breakup ***
When Lust’s crude passions die,
Than wander, lonely as a cloud
and keep it all inside.
If my true Love would pine for me
I’d be more than delighted.
More likely, I will die, alone,
forever unrequited

Her first few steps
on the high wire frightened her.
(Don't look down! I mustn't look down.)
Her lithe body suspended in mid air
high above the killing ground.

Step by step she inched across
to a place where freedom was assured.
Her old life she now left behind her.
Those ties that bound her she abjured.

the Gentleman three stools down shot an admiring glance her way.
She brushed away a strand of hair, a lovely silver gray.
She slipped a ring off of her left hand and felt a warmth that flushed her face.
It's not like she was unaware of the quick courtships in this place.

"Compliments of the Gentleman" the barman brought her some champagne.
Though somewhat out of practice, she still knew how to play this game.
She turned towards the gentleman with a shy smile and confident
stare.
He moved in to claim his prize and sat in the adjoining chair.

She felt a momentary pang of guilt; this act of infidelity.
Then brushed away that traitorous thought; their love was but a memory.