‘To My Tortoise.’
My lids hang heavy o’er my eyes
The coffee’s stale upon my tongue
My world is slow yet moves too fast,
My race, now over, is lost and won.
And hare it is I languidly lie,
Drained by evening’s mellowing sun
In false retirement I sit, at last,
I pause a while, till time hath done.
So sit with me, together sigh
Trying to remember yesteryear’s fun
Where now death’s spectral shadow is cast
And we, the forgotten, no longer run.