Why was I there at the top of the stair?
Did I want to come up or go down?
I had in mind a task of some kind.
Unmoving, I wait and I frown.

My head’s in a pause, but only because . . .
Oh, dear, it’s stalling once more.
There isn’t a clue as to what I must do
Or what I was doing before.

I can’t stand here all day and rot with decay.
Let’s see; was I making the bed?
Was I reading a book about a government crook,
Or searching for needle and thread?

Like a train that’s derailed, my memory has failed
And lost track of where it was going,
While my feet in pursuit, unmoving, take root
In one spot, completely non-growing.

By now you can tell that I’m mixed up -- as well
As my muse is -- she’s dying or dead.
So I surrender and herewith I tender
Regrets. I’m going to bed.