By T.S. Eliot
(Unfinished fragment)
She haunted many a low resort
Near the grimy road of Tottenham Court;
She flitted about the No Man's Land
From The Rising Sun to The Friend at Hand.
And the postman sighed, as he scratched his head:
"You'd really ha' thought she'd ought to be dead
And who would ever suppose that that
Was Grizabella, the Glamour Cat!"
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