The armchairs in the hall are empty now,
The curtain falls — the ball is through.
Drapes turned into a simple screen,
That’s how love’s story ends, it seems.
On stage, the shadow of my hope
Is playing out its final scope.
A convict’s wife — it’s ready, see,
To follow you into exile, free.
This scene was not a success, alas,
By Stanislavski’s honest glass:
You told it, “I don’t believe!” — somehow,
But couldn’t say what, even now.
There were three of us upon the stage —
The hero, hope… and then, there’s me.
You left — and hope went by your side;
That’s how love’s story ends, denied.
Three of us
© Copyright: Катя Лац, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126032107987
Свидетельство о публикации №126032107987
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