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.

by Philip Larkin

Other poems of LARKIN (93)

Comments (1)

This poem was read on public radio this morning. It brought me to find out about the author. And think about the many destructive mowers that we exist with, people finding it necessary to kill the wild flowers, beautiful tall grasses, and so many small cretures who live within this rich world of ours. Kill for one reason, even blades of grass that are so very dull. Our groundhogs are sometimes sporting about, eating their fill of plants in what once was a 'lawn.' And mowers are quietly waiting for a call to action. Sorry, no mowers here this year, as long as we have the power to prevent their power!