by Vikram Seth
How rarely all these few years, as work keeps us aloof,
Or fares, or one thing or another,
Have we had days to spend under our parents' roof:
Myself, my sister, and my brother.
All five of us will die; to reckon from the past
This flesh and blood is unforgiving.
What's hard is that just one of us will be the last
To bear it all and go on living.
-The Humble Administrator's Garden,(1985)-
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
There will be other times for cheerful or romantic poems. Life can't always be high, or it would just be one monotonous plateau.
Post a Comment