Let's wait for one more moon, and be born again.
Let's create a new language, and write a new book...
"For last year's words belong to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning." -T.S. Eliot
Inspired by a few lines from the play 'The Mourning Bride' by William Congreve.
Strangely connected... he was also from the wilds of Yorkshire and
transplanted to London. And the play premiered in 1697 just a short walk
from where I live.