I'm heading for the sere and yellow leaf.
From Mons to Jericho I've borne my crest
And back from Jericho to Mons again;
I've sampled smells in Araby the Blest
Would burst a boiler or corrode a drain;
The Blankshires have a port that raises Cain—
I've messed with them and never come to grief;
And yet I'm dashing like a non-stop train
Full steam into the sere and yellow leaf.
It caught me hard this morning when I dressed