A widening gyre,
you say?
And why does this
leave you dismayed?
I notice there
your hair's gone gray,
and your youthful smirk
has sunk away.
Yet you tersely pace
and turn and sway,
and grit your teeth
till white chunks spray,
all for things
you've been relayed,
events over which
you have no say.
Bring that falcon
on this way!
Let me watch its
spiral decay!
Sit with me
and spend the day
watching end times,
once more, delayed.
