Mother, Summer, I
My mother, who hates thunder storms,
Holds up each summer day and shakes
It out suspiciously, lest swarms
Of grape-dark clouds are lurking there;
But when the August weather breaks
And rains begin, and brittle frost
Sharpens the bird-abandoned air,
Her worried summer look is lost,
And I her son, though summer-born
And summer-loving, none the less
Am easier when the leaves are gone
Too often summer days appear
Emblems of perfect happiness
I can't confront: I must await
A time less bold, less rich, less clear:
An autumn more appropriate.
Philip Larkin
My mother, who hates thunder storms,
Holds up each summer day and shakes
It out suspiciously, lest swarms
Of grape-dark clouds are lurking there;
But when the August weather breaks
And rains begin, and brittle frost
Sharpens the bird-abandoned air,
Her worried summer look is lost,
And I her son, though summer-born
And summer-loving, none the less
Am easier when the leaves are gone
Too often summer days appear
Emblems of perfect happiness
I can't confront: I must await
A time less bold, less rich, less clear:
An autumn more appropriate.
Philip Larkin
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
commonman:
I'm looking for the person with the amazing chocolate recipie. Anyone who likes chocolate is my kind of person. And now you give me Philip Larkin. I'm at a loss for words.
commonman:
No, I haven't tried the recipie yet. I'm still converting it to US brands. But it is so obviously good that I gained a pound just reading it. And, no, I don't really know Larkin. I read him in school, but at that time I didn't appreciate poetry. Now I am discovering how much I really do like poetry, and here is your post reintroducing me to him. All in all, a very enjoyable occurence. So, hello! Nice to meet you!