I was wheeling, weren’t you left reeling? We, we--
Weren’t you falling like a star from that stately name,
Before you didn’t feel the same, and touched by
All the teeth of beasts you couldn’t tame? Then there were–
O, what silken shards of likened dreams were in your past
And it never lasted
More than a week or two. But you,
Then, you were a sentry. At the turn of the century, the
Wooden horses burned and the cardboard-box gates fell.
Since then we never felt so well
As the day before that centennial. Anon, Aeon!
Spare us only years.
I adorned you with a crown of forget-me-nots.
You, you presented me with a fistful of dirt:
Told me to grow my own **** flowers.