I wish I had written that . . . continued

"I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think they will sing to me."

Hands down one of my favorite poems is T. S. Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. There are numerous times during the year that I am moved to read it again and every time it speaks to the Me who identifies with Prufrock's fears and hopes and longing.

It's a longish poem so I won't torture you with the entire thing. Although, I will say that it is definitely a poem that can be read in portions and is worth the time. Here is one of my favorite stanzas.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;	25
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;	30
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

I wish I had written that.

*image: J.W. Waterhouse, The Mermaid