Friday, January 1, 2010

The Trees

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

--Philip Larkin


  1. Ah, the great Mr Larkin nails it again.

    Bonne Année!

  2. Hey T, are you starting with ads oon your blog? I can't figure out what that thing is, before the poem. Do you even know it's there?

  3. Okay, that was just weird. I think I got rid of it.