Last Word

Last Word

One final sonnet to conclude quickly now.
Soon we will leave and release the line.
One more curtain call—and then it falls.

We were so glad to be allowed to speak
And thus somewhat overstepped our bounds.
It came almost by itself; that was enough.

We clear the stage—it is no longer pleasant
Now that the audience mutters and rebels.

One final little sonnet and then begone!
The groaning public may no longer ask for more.
Pasquino silently mounts the scaffold,
Lingering once more on the road to silence,
Awaiting the merciful shot
So that you may breathe in relief again.

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