Sitting by the window, in the last rays of evening light, I read
the words of one man asking another again and again how long
he will delay to be wise.

The question, though asked in the second person singular,
could not possibly have been addressed to me, for I am a poet,
and we all know the ‘Apology.’

So who is that individual our sage is so insistently enquiring?
Would it be the normal London plumber plotting some infernal
hole among the roofs?

Whoever he is, I hope he is not yawning as hard, though of course
one can always blame the weather, for today it’s raining cats and dogs,
and that always puts me to sleep.