The Mower

The Mower
Philip Larkin

The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,
Killed. It had been in the long grass.

I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world
Unmendably. Burial was no help:

Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence
Is always the same; we should be careful

Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.

Yes I think while there is still time we should try to be kind. Today is Philip Larkin’s birthday. He is a poet who wrote only around one hundred poems in his life and dedicated his last years to a fifty line epic style poem. His hopeful desperation seems to live on with in me lately. Although Larkin died in 1985 I like to believe we are still living in the time he is talking about, where it is not too late.