The Pastiche of J. Alfred Prufrock

Come with me, just you and me,
As the dawn awakes the morning
As it leaps onto its lap and rubs its nose, harder and harder still, gently persistent
Come with me through too - bright streets
The anxious entrances , still - closed shops and stores,
Dark, and for the moment, abandoned,
And you start to wonder…
Don’t ask where we’re going, just follow me there

In the hall students wander through,
Speaking of the morning dew

And there will be hope,
Wonderful, glorious, intimate hope,
Hope for children and times to come,
For breakfast, lunch and everyone,

And I will lack faith,
And obsess with how they speak,
Are they laughing at me?
It must be my hair, frizzled in the heat,
But there will be hope,
There will always be hope; I know,
I have stirred my future with tablespoons
And threatened it with butter knives, beneath the moon

But there will be hope, generations to come,
Parents will read their children tales of bravery and courage
To inspire such hope, instill it in their youth

But I do not think I will have any more stories read to me

I’ve seen them walking, hand in hand,
Their lives, they know, just began,
And we scramble to stay there, there with our lives just begun,
Until experience withers us and we die