Mother, Summer, I

Philip Larkin

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My mother, who hates thunder storms,
Holds up each summer day and shakes
It out suspiciously, lest swarms
Of grape-dark clouds are lurking there;
But when the August weather breaks
And rains begin, and brittle frost
Sharpens the bird-abandoned air,
Her worried summer look is lost,

And I her son, though summer-born
And summer-loving, none the less
Am easier when the leaves are gone
Too often summer days appear
Emblems of perfect happiness
I can't confront: I must await
A time less bold, less rich, less clear:
An autumn more appropriate.

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  • rosalieridgeway

    I realy enjoyed this poem by Philip Larkin, even if it felt a little sad at times. The imagery, like "grape-dark clouds" and "bird-abandoned air," gave a strong sense of the passing seasons. Somtimes we all just need an "autumn more appropriate" to truly appreciate the beauty of life.