Epical Epoch

A recital has finished.
The game has been played.

To the success of it all,
the masques displayed,
the acts aplayed,
there is nothing wrong with today.

A routine like many others.
Feathers removed,
garnets stashed,
netting burnt,
clothing wrapped.

As glorious of a morning after,
that it should be,
there was a call past the stall of her hangover bawls.

Hanging over, red and orange splash,
a call from the phone a stored away stash,
it rings and it rings to great sad display,
for a man, to know what he must say.

Her gallop set to a slow pace,
the hangover was most the race.

Ring, and Rung, Picked up and hung.

Suddenly its all done.

Her eyes are hot.
accompanied by no breathless, choked up sounds,
only sadness and great frowns.

A recital is yet to begin,
a sappy beginning has come to an end,
and a new game is to begin.