They are not those who used to feed us
When we were young--they cannot be -
These shapes that now bereave and bleed us?
They are not those who used to feed us, -
For would they not fair terms concede us?
- If hearts can house such treachery
They are not those who used to feed us
When we were young--they cannot be!
The Puzzled Game-birds (triolet)
Thomas Hardy
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Poem topics: house, young, feed, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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