My mother, who hates thunder storms,
Holds up each summer day and shakes
It out suspiciously, lest swarms
Of grape-dark clouds are lurking there;
But when the August weather breaks
And rains begin, and brittle frost
Sharpens the bird-abandoned air,
Her worried summer look is lost,
And I her son, though summer-born
And summer-loving, none the less
Am easier when the leaves are gone
Too often summer days appear
Emblems of perfect happiness
I can’t confront: I must await
A time less bold, less rich, less clear:
An autumn more appropriate.
(Philip Larkin)
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Based on Topics: Time Poems, Money & Wealth Poems, Sons Poems, Mothers Poems, Perfection Poems, Autumn PoemsBased on Keywords: lurking, swarms, hates, appropriate, sharpens, confront, emblems, suspiciously, summer-born, bird-abandoned