I’m having a difficult time with names. With characters, I just name them, usually. Some come into my head fully formed, name and all. My First Reader named Learoyd Otheris Mulvaney, the centuries-old pixie whose stark cynicism has been shaken by the acquisition of a wife… and two children. But me? I’m trying to come up with names for those little beings, who can’t even really be called characters, yet.

So I was thinking about it, and came up with this, after digging around for the poem, falling down the rabbit-hole of youtube, and listening to several different versions. (I saw the play on Drury Lane when I was 18, a memory that will live forever.)

Or, if you prefer the long version, in TS Eliot’s own voice, this one.