Death Of A Star

Dying
On
The
Fiftieth
Floor,
He
Ascended
To
The
Clouds
Above
The
East
River,
Ever
Ongoing,
In
Flowing
Shrouds,
Climbing,
Climbing
Higher,
So
Easy
To
See
Broadway
From
These
Great
Heights,
His
Name
Emblazoned
In
Ten
Score
Of
Lights.
Far
From
The
Grave,
He
Waved.
No
More
Crazy
Days,
Gaudy
Nights
And
Tiresome
Matinees,
His
Ticket
Spent,
He
Simply
Went,
Safely
Wrapped
In
A
Gauze
Of
Remembered
Applause.