Sometimes it might be useful,
to tread without purpose,
a dusty reminiscence,
and relieve idleness,
with the bathos of a burlesque.

To think of the plastered actors,
and actresses lit by torchlight,
or gas flame, or the new electric light,
which even though splendid,
cannot match the sun.  

And when followed down,
into the back rooms,
where the personalities hang,
all seem to slip away -
all the more for each time spent there.  

You might ask yourself,
is this the show they showed,
to the common punters,
to the boy with a ***** shirt,
and the auld one by the door.

Or is it just for me to see,
to rise and fall,
writhe and wane,
like the moon, my mistress,
who says after a long day:

Sit you by a fire,
and seek simple pleasures,
of simple rest and sleep,
so that we may, the next day,
on a past life think deep.