I wish I was as handy as a Prufrock poem.
The bead doll climbs the neck of a vase which housed volunteer sunflowers growing from a rubbish heap. The sun lathes across the autumn sky. An engine roars overhead. The neighborhood dogs are subdued. It'll be dark soon; thirteen hundred is four hours away from gloaming and raccoons who march across the yard. One has a milk-white eye.
"This is the sort of cleverness up with which I will not put"
paraphrasing Winston Churchill's quote