my morning poem,,,

had to search the net for this one, from a book i have,

days.

Days - Philip Larkin

What are days for?

Days are where we live.

They come, they wake us

Time and time over.

They are to be happy in:

Where can we live but days?

Ah, solving that question

Brings the priest and the doctor

In their long coats

Running over the fields.

With great humor, Philip Larkin addresses the rather serious question of what happens when we die? What happens when we are quite literally out of time? Not out of time just in the sense of being dead, but being outside of time, outside of days. As Larkin says, where can we live but days? Days are all we have. What's outside of them? Well, the doctor will rush over to see if you are indeed out of days, and the priest will come to pray over you and see that your time outside of days is blessed.