a poem by Nancy Ellen Crossland, USA - poetry writer, author, poet

He's a real riot
He brings the house down
His wit and one liners are world renowned,

Fans stand in line for hours
He's showered with applause and flowers,
But when the show is over and the lights are down,
He stands alone,
No adoring fans around,

The laughter that for hours rings in his ears,
Are now replaced by doubts, loneliness and fears,

He grabs his coat, turns out the light,
Smiles at the doorman
Waves goodnight,

A silent walk to a lonely hotel,
Solitude he knows all too well,

He stares at his reflection in the mirror
Is this the final performance of his long career?

Another show tomorrow
A plane to catch at ten
Start all over,
Here I go again,

A quick practice of his delivery and routine,
How it goes tomorrow remains to be seen,

But he'll flash his familiar smile for his fans,
Give it all he's got,
Because who knows who'll be laughing at the final tick of the clock.

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