This Is a Man I Know, You Know Him Too

This adult-infant with a noted name
Slipping through his strictured consciousness,
Living only for desperate endocrines,
Today a personality of fame,

He passes entire months without going out
To smell the air, or watch the flight of birds
From lawn to stable,
                  yet ultimately, he
Will find an ending for the symphony
He has not written, but may some day write
If no one blocks his vision of the sight
Of grandeur crumbling,
                     still he will remark
The flock of cygnets nesting in the park
Where streams of opal flow above the dark
Deep beds of carbon, one-time chlorophyll,
Now silent as Persephone is still.