In the Dark

The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,
Killed. It had been in the long grass.

I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world
Unmendably. Burial was no help:

Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence
Is always the same; we should be careful

Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.

by Philip Larkin (1922-1985)

This entry was posted on February 20, 2017 at 2:00 pm and is filed under Poetry with tags Philip Larkin, Poem, Poetry, The Mower. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.