“Tragedy” by Elisabeth Vodola

Tragedy, the houseguest, came to stay;
Its drama quickly calcified its form
To hold the house in thrall;
And soon, the menace of its sway
Was visible to visitors who breached the hall.

From porch to garden, then, one heard
The murmur of the plot, the sanction of applause;
From guest to cynosure, the spot
Imposed its own transcendent set of laws,
Until, at length, the very ground
Gave notice of its sterile state;
And then, triumphant, Tragedy would sound
Its trumpet call to mate.