Philip Larkin
Days by Philip Larkin
T.
It feels like a Friday. And everything is eerily quiet.
Days
Philip Larkin
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.
You might also like these:
This Be the Verse by Philip Larkin
High Windows by Philip Larkin
The Old Fools by Philip Larkin
A Writer by Philip Larkin
Morning At Last: There in the Snow by Philip Larkin
poetry
PoemWiki 评分
暂无评论 写评论