The Red Rose

RUBY TUESDAY
http://workofthepoet.blogspot.com/2009/06/ruby-tuesday_22.html


THE RED ROSE

He was such an artist! The Mime, Marcel Marceaux!

I once saw a performance, many, many years ago.

I was in Rhodesia then, Zimbabwe it's now spelt,

In a town called Bulawayo, in the middle of the veld.

Our entertainment was limited, it was 1960 then,

And Marcel was , I remember, one of the most famous men.

Performers from overseas were rare, amateurs were rife,

So an international person brought some glamour to our life.

The theatre was crowded (with only 'whites' I fear)

And the excitement mounted as his entrance time drew near.

He walked on, almost humble, in his plain, unpatterned clothes,

Wearing on his head a hat and, on the hat, a rose!

Just one great rose of a brilliant hue; it nodded as he came.

And, since that time, red roses have never seemed the same.

For he was a master of his craft; he kept us all enthralled,

Without one word he entertained. Master of Mime so-called.

With his lithe and liquid body he drew pictures in our minds!

He told stories, in the silence, of many, many kinds.

And all the while the bright red rose bobbed gaily overhead,

And we were laughing noisily though not one word was said.

Marcel Marceaux no longer lives; we miss him, goodness knows.

But he has a memorial in every bright red rose.


Another lost world here:

http://rinklyrimes.blogspot.com/2008/12/230-lost-limpopo.html