|
|
POEM DU JOUR
Maturity, by Philip Larkin (with thanks to the Noonday Press)
A stationary sense... as, I suppose,
I shall have, till my single body grows
Inaccurate, tired;
Then I shall start to feel the backward pull
Take over, sickening and masterful -
Some say, desired.
And this must be the prime of life... I blink,
As if at pain; for it is pain, to think
This pantomime
Of compensating act and counter-act
Defeat and counterfeit, makes up, in fact
My ablest time.
last poem du jour
judeschall@aol.com
Please Don't Give My E Address Out To Friends Who Don't Visit This Site - They Should Come
Here And Find It Themselves!
|
