I broke down and cried, ‘ow could I ‘elp it, with all your wit and charms. 

‘Ere lies my dreams, dashed from me ‘eart, yet cradled by the most tender arms.

This spectacle shone in the spotlight beloved, though never the luck ‘ave I. 

Me loved ones, they sparkled and shimmered above, which is what quite compelled me to cry. 

The mystery dances along in the dark, rambunctious and rowdy and bright- 

And there in me seat I eagerly watch and vote with vast vigor each night. 

Though theres not enough for all who deserve to play that dastardly role- 

still those whom I love and miss everyday I summon with all of my soul. 

Such beauty and grace each one does possess makes me poor ‘eart flutter and swell, and break into bits whenever I ‘ear “The Garden Path to Hell" 

I love this so much and it scares me so, to know I’ll never know this joy-

Yet a consolation, true to know that all you had this show to possess and enjoy. 

God, look at me muttering like this- 

while all of you mingle about….

I take pride in you, and the marvelous role of a patron, so true and devout. 

Me words fail me now as I sob at this art and beauty that you could achieve- 

I was never a part and yet it is I who does sob and quiver and grieve. 

Every movement and every note makes me fall in love once again- 

And if I’m such a wreck from something like this, think of practicum- what’s to ‘appen then? 

It’s still is my dream to be in this show, and prove that I ‘ave what it takes, but knowing it’s over for all of you dears, as you see my poor ‘eart just breaks. 

I ‘ope that you know ‘ow ‘appy I am, despite this poem so crude- 

I adore you all and the miraculous thing called ‘The Mystery of Edwin Drood.’