David Herbert Lawrence

(11 September 1885 – 2 March 1930 / Nottinghamshire / England)

Sorrow - Poem by David Herbert Lawrence

Why does the thin grey strand
Floating up from the forgotten
Cigarette between my fingers,
Why does it trouble me?

Ah, you will understand;
When I carried my mother downstairs,
A few times only, at the beginning
Of her soft-foot malady,

I should find, for a reprimand
To my gaiety, a few long grey hairs
On the breast of my coat; and one by one
I let them float up the dark chimney.


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Read poems about / on: mother, dark, sorrow



Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004



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