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I don't imagine I am  The most worthy of audiences -   But you my darling, You tread with such delicate feet  That I swear those footsteps were made to kiss  Those aching, whispering boards.    I'd tear my own script Scatter the blank, useless pulp Into every dark corner of that empty stage. And I promise you, darling, In a heavily silent theatre,  Paper peeling from the walls In the daylight of a forgotten matinee  I'd carefully take my place amongst the rows of empty seats And wait, for the sound of your feet.   
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