| Waste Land Limericks I In April one seldom feels cheerful; Dry stones, sun and dust make me fearful; Clairvoyants distress me, Commuters depress me – Met Stetson and gave him an earful. II She sat on a mighty fine chair, Sparks flew as she tidied her hair; She asks many questions, I make few suggestions – Bad as Albert and Lil – what a pair! III The Thames runs, bones rattle, rats creep; Tiresias fancies a peep – A typist is laid, A record is played – Wei la la. After this it gets deep. IV A Phoenician called Phlebas forgot About birds and his business – the lot, Which is no surprise, Since he’d met his demise And been left in the ocean to rot. V No water. Dry rocks and dry throats, Then thunder, a shower of quotes From the Sanskrit and Dante. Da. Damyata. Shantih. I hope you’ll make sense of the notes. Collection of the Artist | |
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