The water touched by the image of the beast
With silken lines and silver hooks
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street
There will be time, there will be time
Warm’d by thy eyes, more than the sun
Morning in paradise, or what pretends
The iris wavers as the fox trots by
There will the river whispering run
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
And it seems as if the end is nigh
old memories come flooding by
Rubbing its back upon the window panes.
Today’s challenge is to write a cento. This is a poem that is made up of lines taken from other poems.
I have taken lines from Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, Donne’s The Bait and Logan’s Summer in the Ordinary.