Not Waving but Drowning

This little guy, in his sandpit fate, reminded me of a poem I liked when I was twenty. At this time of the year I am sure I am not alone in feeling like I am not waving but drowning. So tired, yet still so much to do.




Not Waving but Drowning


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.


Stevie Smith