Portrait of a Lady
The voice returns like the insisted out of tune
Of a broken violin on an August afternoon.
I am always sure that you understand.
My feelings, always sure that you feel
Sure that across the gulf you reach your hand
You are unvulnerable you have not Achilles heel.
You can say at this point many a one has failed.
But what have I, but what have I my friend
To give you, what can you receive from me.
Only the friendship and the sympathy
Of one about to reach her journey’s end.
T.S. Eliot.
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