I wonder what thoughts were going on in his mind

to make him write like that, gloomy as anything and

talking about curfews as if people of today have the

faintest clue of what he was banging on about, the

plodding home, weary and tired beyond belief – but

there is something in his work that transcends those

years, and the thinking of his days – the ploughman

of the times, who essentially brought farm produce to


our tables – doubtless before the family said a few

sacred words together as they did back then and sent

their grace filled thanks to somewhere in the Ether as

was then their won’t, or they’d be dangling from a tall

tree. No poet had a greater impact on me than him,

the one called Thomas Gray, whose curfew still bongs

in crevices of my mind – as one remembers psalms




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Mon 18th May 2020 11:55

Tom, Keith, Po, Mocosy, Liam, IJMDH - thank you all so much for your likes and comments on this. So appreciated. And Keith, your reminder that the dying of another day is so synonymous with humanity and its transience in the wider scheme of things. P. 👍

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Mon 18th May 2020 10:39

That is a great line Keith!

Philipos, a super job my friend. I really enjoyed this.

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keith jeffries

Mon 18th May 2020 10:21


This poem encapsulates a popular genre of the 18th century when a number of poets were obsessed with death, hence Gray's elegy. Yet I have always wondered how such a poet achieved fame when he only composed 13 poems worthy of mention. I have always loved the words, "the curfew tolls the knell of parting day", where the day's end is another death.

Thank you for this

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