What could be thy uniqueness?
Thy fluffy bearded countenance
For whenst must I count penance
The years, the years they seem less….

Form and memory, mist and soul
Truth be put out, beware, they had a role
Quit I did, my high horse, thence
As did sorrow, lost all my pretense…

Came at me, why did you, with a sword,
To loot and plunder my pirate’s hoard
A treasure trove of memories, my gold
And jewels of days spent happily of old…

O High Father, must you, must you steal?
These last few wisps of my sanity?
Like scraps to dogs, from the tables, reveal
Reveal, Lord, what became of my vanity…