I think the loathed minutes one by one <br />That tear and then go past are little worth <br />Save nearer to the blindness to the sun <br />They bring me, and the farewell to all earth <br /> <br />Save to that six-foot-length I must lie in <br />Sodden with mud, and not to grieve again <br />Because high Autumn goes beyond my pen <br />And snow lies inexprest in the deep lane.<br /><br />Ivor Gurney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/moments-75/
