From verse to verse in cobbled streets kerplopped, on he rode as in days of old. Tho’ back then he might have stopped at least to think a thing or two. Or noticed some gew-gaw in the window of Thee Olde Curiosity Shoppe that may have led down some hole or other which likely would have come to nothing, but would yet have been enjoyed for its puttering murder of time. But the taste for such distraction fades. . .the glister glints ever fainter now
. . . even the canary’s mirror grows dim.
poetastrophy 