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Wendy Cope

Wendy Cope is a contemporary English poet. She read history at St Hilda's College, Oxford. She now lives in Ely with her husband, the poet Lachlan Mackinnon.

Limericks

The Waste Land Imore_vert

In April one seldom feels cheerful,

Dry stones, sun and dust make me fearful,

Clairvoyantes distress me,

Commuters depress me,

Met Stetson and gave him an earful.


by Wendy Cope


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The Waste Land IImore_vert

She sat on a mighty fine chair,

Sparks flew as she tidied her hair,

She asks many questions,

I make few suggestions,

Bad as Albert and Lil--what a pair!


by Wendy Cope


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The Waste Land IIImore_vert

The Thames runs, bones rattle, rats creep,

Tiresias fancies a peep,

A typist is laid,

A record is played,

Wei la la. After this it gets deep.


by Wendy Cope


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The Waste Land IVmore_vert

A Phoenician named Phlebas forgot,

About birds and his business--the lot,

Which is no surprise,

Since he'd met his demise,

And been left in the ocean to rot.


by Wendy Cope


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The Waste Land Vmore_vert

No water. Dry rocks and dry throats,

Then thunder, a shower of quotes,

From the Sanskrit and Dante.

Da. Damyata. Shantih.

I hope you'll make sense of the notes.


by Wendy Cope


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