Drape

In the hush of the old theatre,
a heavy drape hangs solemn and still,
its velvet folds a deep, muted colour,
waiting for the curtain’s quiet thrill.

It sways with the breath of backstage whispers,
a soft rustle like distant rain,
each pleat a secret, each shadow a promise,
that the show will begin again.

When the lights finally kiss its surface,
the drape lifts, revealing the stage’s bright stare,
and for a moment the audience sees
the magic that lingers in the air.

Then, as the final bow takes its farewell,
the drape falls back, a sombre embrace,
folding itself in a patient repose,
ready to guard the next fleeting grace.