
It Was All Very Tidy
When I reached his place,
The grass was smooth,
The wind was delicate,
The wit well timed,
The limbs well formed,
The pictures straight on the wall:
It was all very tidy.
He was cancelling out
The last row of figures,
He had his beard tied up in ribbons,
There was no dust on his shoe,
Everyone nodded:
It was all very tidy.
Music was not playing,
There were no sudden noises,
The sun shone blandly,
The clock ticked:
It was all very tidy.
‘Apart from and above all this,’
I reassured myself,
‘There is now myself.’
It was all very tidy.
Death did not address me,
He had nearly done:
It was all very tidy.
They asked, did I not think
It was all very tidy?
I could not bring myself
To laugh or untie
His beard’s neat ribbons,
Or jog his elbow,
Or whistle, or sing,
Or make disturbance,
I consented, frozenly,
He was unexceptionable:
It was all very tidy.
Robert Graves.
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