Sitting and waiting.
It has been a longtime,
Since I wrote,
Like this.
The last time, I sat
By the old river Thames,
Tate Modern
03.
I was not waiting then.
For mail from pathologists,
Late, late mail with
Results.
Will it be the Footman,
Eternal snickering again
As he holds my coat?
I wait.
Or will it be the same -
So I can catch the wind,
Trim sail and remain,
Sane?
Sailor
I am no prophet - and here's no great matter
I have seen the moments of my greatness flicker,
I have seen the eternal footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid
T S Eliot "The love song of J Alfred Prufrock"
