Sonnet for a Lonely Singer

I took him back home, to the Old Queen Vic,
Where once the boards had creaked beneath his feet
(Now wheeled with help and spoken of as 'sick')
His footlights wan as age and cancer meet
I pretend not to see the tears that well
The theatre ghosts awoken by his sobs
Thoughts of the past, wrack frailties in this shell,
Of dancers, singers, magic and Time stopped
Voices trapped in static on old vinyl
Lost through disease and fanfare's fickle whim
Departing words ring clear, starkly final
A lonely tune to fill a life made thin

Left mute to bow before one more encore
My grandfather's unsung songs and applause

(Shakespearean style ABABCDCDEFEFGG)

(nb. 'theatre' is given it's English spelling and two syllablic count {e:smile})