The Mower 
Philip Larkin

The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found 
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades, 
Killed. It had been in the long grass.

I had seen it before, and even fed it, once. 
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world 
Unmendably. Burial was no help:

Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence 
Is always the same; we should be careful

Of each other, we should be kind 
While there is still time.

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