Yard, poetry by Henry Bladon at Spillwords.com
Kate Tand



written by: Henry Bladon



That last time we sat in the yard
we looked at the quiet sky
while the flowers released their scent

I said how much I loved my favourite tree
and he announced that
he loved the overhead clouds
but he didn’t love me

I thought of a thousand kisses
and all those times I then found hard
to understand.

It was like the moment when
you finally realise that toast is merely burnt bread.

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