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Morning At Last: There in the Snow by Philip Larkin

Haven’t been sleeping right these past few days. My morning’s the night, my night’s the morning, or sometimes, the afternoon. I hardly make sense anymore, most of all to myself, but I suppose one is entitled to such period of madness.

Morning At Last: There in the Snow
Philip Larkin

Morning at last: there in the snow
Your small blunt footprints come and go.
Night has left no more to show,

Not the candle, the half-drunk wine,
Or touching joy; only this sign
Of your life walking into mine.

But when they vanish with the rain
What morning woke to will remain
Whether as happiness or pain.

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