an almost accidental gathering of poets
 
   
 
 
Philip Larkin
 (1964)
Days
What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:
Where can we live but days?

Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor
In their long coats
Running over the fields.
   
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