The tail end of the carnival;
the plush has gone, its peaches fade
and of that glossy coat you wore
just silver loops of fur remain;
the triumph of our pride has failed.
Along its esplanade rough timbers
clothe the holly oak beneath which rode
those dappled pipers fluting tunes.
Consider then your hollow hopes
as glory’s dream runs quiet:
be calm. The hearthstone’s flame retains
its honey lambent glow, the pinpricks
of night’s patterned sky – full well
you know – mark out a path to follow
far beyond life’s narrow disappointments.