Becca

After Becca’s death we received hundreds of cards and letters – so many reflections and memories. Here is one poem, written by our dear friend Fran.

Becca

The theatre is empty now.
By day, the sunlight slants
On battered boards.
By night, the moonlight
Milks the mute applause
Of silent rows.
Whatever play was here
Has now moved on.
The curtains closed,
And audiences, stirred,
Have now to homes all gone.

But through these doors,
In rivers of bright voices,
Rushing on through valleyed woods
And tumbling down towards the sea,
The story of the world still courses,
Told – as it must always be –
From the moment it is lived
Until the oceans set it free