Home is so sad. It stays as it was left,
Shaped in the comfort of the last to go
As if to win them back. Instead, bereft
Of anyone to please, it withers so,
Having no heart to put aside the theft.
And turn again to what it started as,
A joyous shot at how things ought to be,
Long fallen wide. You can see how it was:
Look at the pictures and the cutlery.
The music in the piano stool. That vase.
End of the poem
15 random poems
- Яков Полонский – Чтобы песня моя разлилась как поток
- DOWNHILL JOURNEY by Satish Verma
- the_holy_tree.html
- Waking In March by Philip Levine
- Falling Asleep by Siegfried Sassoon
- Robert Burns: A Man’s A Man For A’ That:
- In The Train by Sara Teasdale
- Portrait From The Infantry
- The New Decalogue poem – Ambrose Bierce poems | Poems and Poetry
- Юлий Даниэль – Друзьям
- first_verse.html
- Rain After a Vaudeville Show by Stephen Vincent Benet
- Ten Years After by Graham Rowlands
- Sculpture of Debris on the Waterfront by Martina Reisz Newberry
- Whenever I Go There by W. S. Merwin
Some external links:
Duckduckgo.com – the alternative in the US
Quant.com – a search engine from France, and also an alternative, at least for Europe
Yandex – the Russian search engine (it’s probably the best search engine for image searches).
Philip Arthur Larkin (1922-1985), Commander of the Order of the British Empire, a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature, Cavalier of the Order of the Companions of Honour, was an English poet, novelist, and librarian.