A discarded cloth

A discarded cloth winks from a corner
awaiting the final shove to its fate.
In a few years it lost its sheen, hubris
whittled away by wear and tear.

It played host to its owner for a time
braving the nuances of vagabond weather --
rain, soaking heat or embalming chill.
It knew Time had nothing to reclaim.

Its owner, ever short of care or foresight,
was too besotted with his daily chores --
building a life out of the visible avenues.
No thought to spare for a cloth's plight.

Its clever design or artful artwork is
a contrivance for only a passing notice.
A shred of beauty awaits its own twilight.
The owner's day too awaits the hearse.

Its prankish wink was lost on the owner.
After all age is only a fading number.