Poetry Prayer #17

I saved the poem for the holiday. This is from T.S. Eliot's The Wasteland. It's just a tiny excerpt.

The Wasteland

by T.S. Eliot

V. What the Thunder Said

After the torch-light red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and place and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience