There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet. - T. S. Eliot

Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.

Words strain,
Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,
Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,
Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,
Will not stay still.

But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover — But the cat himself knows, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.