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The Mower

 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.

Poem by Philip Larkin
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