The local snivels through the fields
Philip Arthur Larkin
1922 to 1985
The local snivels through the fields:
I sit between felt-hatted mums
Whose weekly day-excursion yields
Baby-sized parcels, bags of plums,
And bones of gossip good to clack
Past all the seven stations back.
Strange that my own elaborate spree
Should after fourteen days run out
In torpid rural company
Ignoring what my labels shout.
Death will be such another thing,
All we have done not mattering.
Philip Arthur Larkin's The local snivels through the fields
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