Frail, fragile my old sight shown, none the wiser, only heated temperament. So this day, shall not end, in wicked decay, I must find, search, with intensive wrath, mental, that which will change my flaunting way.
There, long the path, twisted, my fading eye, closing, sleep cannot fall. I want, once, not all, just a short pleasant thought, one that will reach, calling my wayward eye, before the shutting slumber dominates all.
Search for that, which avoids, this old man’s sight. Eye wondering, seeking right, and left. Finding nothing, gathering enrichment, for which existence was meant.