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"
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I am intrigued by your poem, Sailor. And I am chuffed (privately) by your reference to mail from pathologists. I don't recognise the class logo on the sail in your picture. What type of dinghy is it? I grew up in Sabots and Mirrors on the Bay. We sailed at Half Moon Bay - when the Cerberus was still looking like a vessel. Haven't seen it for years. Is it sad now?
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