sexta-feira, junho 6

Onde houver uma sombra

The trees
Philip Larkin

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.


Anonymous Anónimo said...


10:02 da manhã  
Anonymous Blita said...

Poems on trees:cool|

4:10 da tarde  
Anonymous mike said...

People makes open space work...

10:45 da tarde  

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