He eschewed the Spotlight until he was 83, Then, like a craven child, he leaps, He totters into a cold cathode pool and is centre stage.
The fledgling son of and upended bride; Stage fright perhaps, Trapped in a freeze frame of fear, Till now at 83, Clear just to be.
Centre stage his rage is vaulted across an empty house, The words of a tired and tested former son of a bishops daughter, The lines of his life relished in anger and vile plots now twisted to ply his crowd with tales of blame.
Yet, he who was Puck is now a king. Weak no more, vaulting from some horse, lancing the beast that has held him down, Standing for something more than his shabby past.
He was 83, when with glee, he became his own life paradoy, The fool becomes a king.