If all the world is really but a stage,
And all of its oceans are gathered tears,
Then nature's a cloak the Director wears,
And every night is a turn of a page,
When each of the actors are sleeping encaged,
Every child's eye avoids monsters and fear,
Mothers soothe and swirl, a dance 'till dawn's near,
Director peers down, life's show is engaged.
So it continues, players join for a stay,
Their footprints leave hollows on land and on man
As each actor's curtains close one last time,
His dressing room cleaned for the next protégé,
Who seven times falls until he can stand,
Against his critics as the applause climbs.

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