Thursday, May 18, 2017


Poetry plays my heart with its gentle fingers.  Then as I longed with my teary eyes, the poets seemed just turned their heads with a knowing nod.  The souls can not be lonely when there is poetry.

I found Philip Larkin's "Days" this morning.  I guess it's fitting for my blog.


Related Poem Content Details

What are days for?
Days are where we live.   
They come, they wake us   
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:   
Where can we live but days?

Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor   
In their long coats
Running over the fields.

No comments:

Post a Comment