It’s the night of the performance,
my face is red, my palms are heavy.
I had not but a few words,
lines were read, but was not ready.

The red velvet rises quickly,
the lights shine into the crowd.
A familiar face sits in the audience,
my mother that I must make proud.

Our teacher pats my back,
“go on and break a leg.”
I looked back at her,
wished i could beg.

The scene hung brightly on the wall,
with men waking to the morning sun.
Glad i didn’t have to speak,
yet I wished it was already done.

Time passed ‘til the time came,
to start the scene of Act III.
I stepped forward into the light,
so nervous I had to pee.

Beads of sweat rolled down my face,
it added to my character.
I was a farmhand of late,
named Freddy Hansel Barrister.