The Snowmen!

In case you need to be told every single time... THERE ARE SPOILERS HERE! BEWARE!

I give you... poetry!

Vers de Société by Philip Larkin

My wife and I have asked a crowd of craps
To come and waste their time and ours: perhaps   
You’d care to join us? In a pig’s arse, friend. 
Day comes to an end.
The gas fire breathes, the trees are darkly swayed. 
And so Dear Warlock-Williams: I’m afraid—

Funny how hard it is to be alone.

I could spend half my evenings, if I wanted,  

Holding a glass of washing sherry, canted  

Over to catch the drivel of some bitch  

Who’s read nothing but Which;

Just think of all the spare time that has flown

Straight into nothingness by being filled  

With forks and faces, rather than repaid  

Under a lamp, hearing the noise of wind,  

And looking out to see the moon thinned  

To an air-sharpened blade.

A life, and yet how sternly it’s instilled

All solitude is selfish. No one now

Believes the hermit with his gown and dish  

Talking to God (who’s gone too); the big wish  

Is to have people nice to you, which means  

Doing it back somehow.

Virtue is social. Are, then, these routines

Playing at goodness, like going to church?

Something that bores us, something we don’t do well  

(Asking that ass about his fool research)  

But try to feel, because, however crudely,  

It shows us what should be?

Too subtle, that. Too decent, too. Oh hell,

Only the young can be alone freely.

The time is shorter now for company,

And sitting by a lamp more often brings

Not peace, but other things.

Beyond the light stand failure and remorse  

Whispering Dear Warlock-Williams: Why, of course—