The Mower -- Philip Larkin

The Mower

The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found

A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,

Killed. It had been in the long grass.

I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.

Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world

Unmendably. Burial was no help:

Next morning I got up and it did not.

The first day after a death, the new absence

Is always the same; we should be careful

Of each other, we should be kind

While there is still time.

 

 

 

 

 

Philip Larkin (1922–1985)

 

 

 

People who know far more about it than me, say that this is the best collection of his poems (Anthony Thwaite, editor; 1989):

 

 

 

And here's another by Mr. Larkin, Poetry of Departures, read by the poet.