The days are getting shorter almost
as if they've caught a chill
and they
cough a lot of memory into the
morning where I used to be.

Though the days are shorter now
and the hours eat up the sunlight,
I might still go out to play,
lit by the gas lamps of
my yesterday.

I'm trapped by things I've strapped to me and
that's the cough of memory.
I understand it now
I know my wanderings have been to an end
and
now these days of dreaming
seemingly send me off
to sleep.