Inside A Letter Box

Philip Larkin: 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. 

            

*Click on the source link to hear Larkin recite this poem. 

(Source: poetryarchive.org)

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  8. theredshoes reblogged this from bellswithin and added:
    My goodness, a Philip Larkin poem that doesn’t make me want to immediately put my head under the water and end it all....
  9. bellswithin posted this