do it again, and again, and forever again.”
King Tching Thang / quoted by Thoreau
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have posted these two poems previously,
but it seems they deserve a joint appearance,
pairing so naturally, with their matching titles:
Days
What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:
Where can we live but days?
Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor
In their long coats
Running over the fields.
Philip Larkin (1922 - 1985) Days
What I admire most about days
Is their immaculate sense of timing.
They appear
inevitably
at first light
Eke
themselves out slowly
over noon
Then edge surefootedly
toward evening
To bow out
at the very soupcon
of darkness.
Spot on cue, every time.
Roger McGough (b. 1937)
(More by McGough,
a Liverpool Poet for all seasons . . . ) Another sad headstone
at the cemetery near our house.
He died barely a week beyond his 21st birthday
Sep. 8. 1818 ~ Sep. 19. 1839
"A student of the university of va."
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