Feeling my age, too soon too tired,
Whatever gifts I had no more required,
I am a hireling called in to be fired.
Time was I was ambitious, heretofore.
Not any more, not any more.
Ridding myself of papers, pots, coins, books,
No longer vain about what had been looks,
The broth boiled over by too many cooks.
Time was I kept some goods held back in store.
Not any more, not any more.
Taking my time over this last short walk,
Not hearing what I say, or how I talk,
Pushing my knife against my trembling fork.
Time was I knew when I’d become a bore.
Not any more, not any more.
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