Cut Grass

[frazzled_frosty]

Cut grass lies frail:
Brief is the breath
Mown stalks exhale.
Long, long the death

It dies in the white hours
Of young-leafed June
With chestnut flowers,
With hedges snow-like strewn,

White lilac bowed,
Lost lanes of Queen Anne's Lace
And that high-builded cloud
Moving at summer's pace.

Philip Larkin