The din of voices fade.
Footsteps echoing off the stark wall,
People rushing home away from the concert hall,
She has been in a parade.
For years performance has been all,
Now it is a pedestrian pursuit,
A laboured affair filling her with gall.
This chaotic clambering lifestyle renders her mute.
For this fame she has paid.
Travelling inwards now seeking space
Cutting herself off, earnestly pursuing grace
She can now gratefully give up the chase.
The din of voices fade.
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