I read an article (I skimmed an article) yesterday that said: Too many of us
make it to the death-bed lament and wail about being someone we’re not.
Later, I listened to a podcast which talked about the lost virtue of mimes
and the art of empty pageantry. Seemed fitting, I think.
Both in one day.
Then, as I sipped my 3 o’clock tea and hacked a poem,
I remembered T.S. Eliot, who wisely informed us
the peach has gone out of season.
