Home is so sad. It stays as it was left,
Shaped in 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.
End of the poem
15 random poems
- Николай Заболоцкий – Искушение
- Stacking The Straw poem – Amy Clampitt poems | Poems and Poetry
- Вера Павлова – Перед дальней дорогой
- Sonnet 17 poem – John Milton poems
- Dirty Ol’ Me by Shel Silverstein
- Алексей Жемчужников – Старик
- The First Part: Sonnet 2 – I know that all beneath the moon decays by William Drummond
- The Wine by Sara Teasdale
- Mind Extempore by Pawan Kumar
- Yours & Mine poem – Alice Fulton poems | Poetry Monster
- Василий Курочкин – Юмористическим чутьем
- Ballade Of The Southern Cross poem – Andrew Lang poems
- Anteater by Shel Silverstein
- To His Watch poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Robert Burns: Epistle To J. Lapraik, An Old Scottish Bard:
Some external links:
Duckduckgo.com – the alternative in the US
Quant.com – a search engine from France, and also an alternative, at least for Europe
Yandex – the Russian search engine (it’s probably the best search engine for image searches).
Philip Arthur Larkin (1922-1985), Commander of the Order of the British Empire, a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature, Cavalier of the Order of the Companions of Honour, was an English poet, novelist, and librarian.