“Extrapolate “this be the verse””

To extrapolate “this be the verse,”  
We gather Larkin’s mournful sound,  
Beyond the stony, simple curse  
That echoes down the battleground  
Of fathers, mothers, years reversed,  
Regret that’s stitched in every round.

He tells us life is handed down  
By hands that aren’t themselves quite clean—  
A cycle charted, blue and brown,  
Of borrowed joys and twisted spleen.  
But if we seek, as searchers must,  
To lift this thread from primal dust,  
Can we, with gentler voices, turn  
The record, and with patience learn  
That what we take, we modify,  
Reforge with hope as days go by?

So extrapolate past the gloom—  
Beyond the famous, fatal line—  
Let’s plant forgiveness in each room  
Where Larkin’s shadow made resign.  
We carry burdens, that is true,  
But build with what we’re given, too:  
Not only faults—there’s laughter, grace,  
A stubborn joy we still embrace.  
Let “this be the verse” become—  
Not just the echo, but the drum  
That summons kindness, page by page:  
An epilogue for grief and rage.

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