"At death you break up: the bits that were you / Start speeding away from each other for ever / With no one to see. It's only oblivion, true: / We had it before, but then it was going to end, / And was all the time merging with a unique endeavour / To bring to bloom the million-petalled flower / Of being here." - Philip Larkin
I forget what poem this comes from, anyone know?
No comments:
Post a Comment