Drabble: Doctor, doctor
The doctor examined my wound. He dug and probed, and I was glad when he stopped. One would think he was kneading dough. When he saw my ‘English Poetry from Chaucer to Rossetti’, he revealed a little of himself. Eyes alight, he quoted: ‘I remember, I remember, the house where I was borne’, then switched to the last couple of lines about being ‘further away from Heaven now that he is old enough to know the height of trees’. He is fond of Omar Khayyám and said that when he feels depressed he reels the Rubaiyat off by heart.
Photo credits: Robert Byron.
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