Who are we but strolling players,
Wand'ring throught the long ago,
Joys and sadness, hopes and longings,
Keep us travelling onward though
The laugter and applause of others,
Who view the passing cavalcade,
Leave echoes hovering some far summer,
floating round a woodland glade,
'Twas but a tale for your amusement,
Like my small unworthy rhyme,
Gone, alas, into those realms,
The land of once apon a time.