Strange to know nothing, never to be sure
Of what is true or right or real,
But forced to qualify or so I feel,
Or Well, it does seem so:
Someone must know.

Strange to be ignorant of the way things work:
Their skill at finding what they need,
Their sense of shape, and punctual spread of seed,
And willingness to change;
Yes, it is strange,

Even to wear such knowledge - for our flesh
Surrounds us with its own decisions -
And yet spend all our life on imprecisions,
That when we start to die
Have no idea why.

Added: on February 20th, 2006 at 3:48 AM | Viewed: 5836 times | Comments (2)

Poet: Philip Larkin
Poem: Ignorance
Volume: The Whitsun Weddings
Year: Published/Written in 1955

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