Days

What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:
Where can we live but days?

Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor
In their long coats
Running over the fields.

by Philip Larkin

Other poems of LARKIN (93)

Comments (2)

Oh, what a fantastic way to describe a city!
Surely there is a typo here. And her dark eyes his bridegroom glance have know. This line makes no sense.