There is an evening coming in <br />Across the fields, one never seen before, <br />That lights no lamps. <br /> <br />Silken it seems at a distance, yet <br />When it is drawn up over the knees and breast <br />It brings no comfort. <br /> <br />Where has the tree gone, that locked <br />Earth to the sky? What is under my hands, <br />That I cannot feel? <br /> <br />What loads my hands down?<br /><br />Philip Larkin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/going/
