Subscribe via RSS Feed Connect on Google Plus Connect on Flickr

Cut Grass

Wednesday, 3 July, 2013

Cut grass lies frail:
Brief is the breath
Mown stalks exhale.
Long, long the death

It dies in the white hours
Of young-leafed June
With chestnut flowers,
With hedges snowlike strewn,

White lilac bowed,
Lost lanes of Queen Anne’s lace,
And that high-builded cloud
Moving at summer’s pace.

Philip Larkin

Cut grass


Filed in: Poetry, Thinking • Tags: , ,

Comments are closed.