Ambition's rocking horse
creaks with age and neglect.
An ebony clock strikes.
Is it as late as that?

Beyond the torn curtains
an avenue of trees
is almost lost in mist.
Is it as late as that?

Panes rattle in their frames.
Hard putty cracks and breaks.
Signs of age and decay.
Is it as late as that?

A child's top slows and stops,
the art of brinkmanship,
then topples to the floor.
Is it as late as that?

I feel it in the blood.
It is as late as that.