Caught in the center of a soundless field
While hot inexplicable hours go by
What trap is this? Where were its teeth concealed?
You seem to ask.
I make a sharp reply,
Then clean my stick. I’m glad I can’t explain
Just in what jaws you were to suppurate:
You may have thought things would come right again
If you could only keep quite still and wait.

  • 0
  • 0
  •  
  •  
Login per commentare...
Email

Altre opere di Philip Larkin...

Alcuni poeti che seguono Philip Larkin...

Jessalyn M Brandon Hall Georgia Geary Yutaka Kazori saba saba Diana