Cut Grass Lies Frail

 

CUT GRASS

by Philip Larkin

Cut grass lies frail:
Brief is the breath
Mown stalks exhale.
Long, long the death

It dies in the white hours
Of young-leafed June
With chestnut flowers,
With hedges snowlike strewn,

White lilac bowed,
Lost lanes of Queen Anne's lace,
And that high-builded cloud
Moving at summer's pace.

https://www.poetrysoup.com/famous/poems/short/june


I think it has to be a Philip Larkin poem for June - as it expresses both beauty and sadness.  

Our Bible study on Wednesday morning went well, and my gallant chauffeur picked me up from the Kingdom Hall Thursday night and we drove back home into a wonderful sunset.  He is also a valet these days as I can't get myself dressed to Kingdom Hall standards without his help.

Of course I saw the sunset through a veil of black spots and something like a small knot of hair - effects left by my cataract operation. But it was beautiful nonetheless.

Poor Col spent Friday trying to get the insurance on my car renewed - not that I will be driving again, but he has decided to keep it and use it for the moment. It proved immensely difficult finding a human being he could actually talk to. And my main achievement of the day was making a carrot cake for the freezer. And that takes it out of me to an alarming extent these days.
I still find myself wanting to write limericks:
There was a young man of Dhahran
Who drove out to sea in his van
It was foolish of him
as he could not swim
and neither, it seems, could his van.

My (no longer) young man (no longer) of Dhahran is having loads of visitors to his balcony moth hotel at the moment He will soon be checking them out - into the rain this morning.

Him Basil Fawlty - me Sybil.