Cut grass lies frail: <br />Brief is the breath <br />Mown stalks exhale. <br />Long, long the death <br /> <br />It dies in the white hours <br />Of young-leafed June <br />With chestnut flowers, <br />With hedges snowlike strewn, <br /> <br />White lilac bowed, <br />Lost lanes of Queen Anne's lace, <br />And that high-builded cloud <br />Moving at summer's pace.<br /><br />Philip Larkin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cut-grass/
