Thursday, March 5, 2015

Not Waving But Drowning

the quintessence of British life in one awful, glorious poem:

Not Waving but Drowning

BY STEVIE SMITH
Nobody heard him, the dead man,   
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought   
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he’s dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,   
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always   
(Still the dead one lay moaning)   
I was much too far out all my life   
And not waving but drowning.

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