Walk With The Dead For Fear Of

Heads In The Women's Ward On Pillow After Pillow Lies The Wild White Hair And Staring Eyes; Jaws Stand Open; Necks Are Stretched With Every Tendon Sharply Sketched; A Bearded Mouth Talks Silently To Someone No One Else Can See. Sixty Years Ago They Smiled At Lover, Husband, First-born Child. Smiles Are For Youth. For Old Age Come Death's Terror And Delirium.

I Have Wished You Something None Of The Others Would.

Life And Literature Is A Question Of What One Thrills To, And Further Than That No Man Shall Ever Go Without Putting His Foot In A Turd.

Since The Majority Of Me Rejects The Majority Of You, Debating Ends Forthwith, And We Divide.'' Philip Larkin

My Mother, Who Hates Thunderstorms, Holds Up Each Summer Day And Shakes It Out Suspiciously, Lest Swarms Of Grape-dark Clouds Are Lurking There.