After the Song ...

Last night, I had an ambitious dream. I dreamt I was writing an opera and had chosen the play, Macbeth, by Herr Shakespeare for my libretto.

‘Come. Give me your hand. What’s done cannot be undone….’
My Scottish heroine is fierce and yet, not fierce.
‘To bed…to bed…there’s knocking at the gate.’
She sang it all da capo as if to prove she had lost her senses…
‘Come, give me your hand… come, come, come.’
She sang it again and again like a mad woman.

‘I tell you yet again, Banquo’s buried; he cannot come out on’s grave…’

The lady, in all her loneliness, jumped off her parapet in the third act. What would Wolfie think of that for an ending?

‘Let ME, let ME write this one, oh sister mine,’ I hear him say as I rise from my bed.

‘You can’t. I am,’ I reply. N.

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