An old peacock has lost his voice, among the hens
he wanders, his soundless beak a' clacking.
Once he rode the roof of life, once he strutted
across its gaming board, a tyrant lover,
a beady-eyed frightener to all comers.
The hens gather to ridicule the old cock-king,
and mock his silent passing. A younger cock must
by common law
topple his fan-feathered throne
upon the floor.
The voiceless bird must learn to be a poets page,
and there write the sorry history
of those that wander (most reluctantly),
into that choleric school
of chronic ripe old age.