In a far distant dream, from a time long ago,
Was a faded old man, in his house, by the pool.
His gate kept out drifters, chaos and the noise.
Children came to borrow; and the butler never smiled.
While the dream moved along like a slow metronome,
Dim sparkles from the crystal and velvet musty pillows.
The dream that was in color is now just grays and white,
For he chose to exit through the gate that ne’er was built.
His garden - a petunia that grows from his derby band;
The kids all hail his coming for the stories he will tell.
Sepia tones and red, with blues, some greens and yellow,
Gold and silver lacking, but a palette rich like wine.