Sweet dreams

I was woken in the early hours of this morning by a particularly intense dream, but, as is so often the case, the moment I regained my wakeful consciousness, all memory of the dream disappeared. And yet the intensity of the dream remained. And, quite unaccountably, some lines from T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, lines I don’t often think about consciously, were going around my head:

Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
O Lord Thou pluckest


I  wish I could remember what the hell it was I was dreaming about. It must have been fun.

3 responses to this post.

  1. Is this the sciatica talking?


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