That Vase

Home is so sad. It stays as it was left,
Shaped to 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.

by Philip Larkin
British Poet (1922 - 1985)

FOR MORE POETRY ABOUT THE COMFORT OF HOME,
SEE MY FORTNIGHTLY BLOG POST:
JANUARY 28th, 2010: SAYING THE OLD TOWN'S NAME

Above and below:
my simple copy in acrylics of the cover art
on one of my favorite mystery novels


Just Too Sad For Words