“Going” : : There is an evening coming inAcross the fields, one never seen before,That lights no lamps. Silken it seems at a distance, yetWhen it is drawn up over the knees and breastIt brings no comfort. Where has the tree gone, that lockedEarth to the sky? What is under my hands,That I cannot feel?Continue reading “Going : Philips Larkin : : Death Poems : :”