Home is so sad. It stays as it was left, <br />Shaped to the comfort of the last to go <br />As if to win them back. Instead, bereft <br />Of anyone to please, it withers so, <br />Having no heart to put aside the theft <br /> <br />And turn again to what it started as, <br />A joyous shot at how things ought to be, <br />Long fallen wide. You can see how it was: <br />Look at the pictures and the cutlery. <br />The music in the piano stool. That vase.<br /><br />Philip Larkin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/home-is-so-sad/
