‘Go to sleep now,’ they said, ‘the operation will be later.’
But when they had gone I got out of bed rather shakily,
for the drug was beginning to work,
and went to say goodbye to myself in the mirror.
As I did so a street vendor outside played a delicate
arpeggio upon his flute,
a very gentle merry sound
which he repeated, over and over again,
in sweet diminuendo down the street.
Flights of angels, I said to myself, and so
staggered to my bed, and oblivion.