The gift given fades in memory
Rots into the ground,
out of sight and sound.
The word is lost from context in time.
A comedy of errors,
a sign
to mark the path.
In the illusion of looking back
See not how far youve come,
or how far yet to go
seek to understand the character
you play in this travelling show.
For Brighton pier we'll return next year
to stand upon this stage,
timeless as shakespeare,
regular as the tide.
The script repeats as the players refine
In the quiet of the wings
the waves heard, chhhh upon the stones,
as the players word
grinds upon the soul.
And one day when even age is old
and many a tale has been resoled
upon Brighton beach, barefoot we'll stand
making footprints in the sand