Poetry, are you still in there?
You do not return my calls.
You have probably gone off
To adventure in the
Woods, swashbuckling
An evil foe. Who knows
You could be singing with
The birds, or sailing the
Seas, bending the winds
To your mighty words.
Or perhaps it’s what
I feared, and they found you
under Larkin’s Mower.
…
After The Mower by Philip Larkin
Photo by Daniel Watson on Unsplash