A Piece of Poetry

One day I was sitting in a rocker comfortably reading Marcus Aurelius (this was in the days when I still read philosophy for personal enjoyment), when one line suddenly popped out at me.  I had to write a poem on it at once, which I did, and hear it is.  

The End of the Play

“For what shall be a complete drama is determined by him who was once the cause of its composition, and now of its dissolution: but thou art the cause of neither. Depart then satisfied, for he also who releases thee is satisfied.”

--The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius

When Shakespeare cries out “Finis”

Who will say he doeth wrong?

Will Romeo plead for one last kiss,

Or Falstaff one last song?

When Rostand ties the curtain fast

Who will argue with his will?

Will Cyrano wave his nose and blast,

“I’ve three more men to kill"?

Shall love and laughter bind us

Close to the props and the stage?

Will sham-fight thrill and glory case us

In plastic armor’s cage?

Chekhov ends his one-act play,

And who will rise to his height?

Not justly so will the actor say,

“Playwright, the play’s not right.”

But short or long, the play’s the thing.

We the players must be tried.

Then play your part, the author watching,

May watch, well satisfied.