{"id":1666,"date":"2012-07-18T18:22:28","date_gmt":"2012-07-18T18:22:28","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?page_id=1666"},"modified":"2012-07-19T02:55:36","modified_gmt":"2012-07-19T02:55:36","slug":"tom-harding-712","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/tom-harding-712\/","title":{"rendered":"Tom Harding. 7\/12"},"content":{"rendered":"
\u00a0Folk Song<\/strong><\/div>\n
…<\/span><\/div>\n
…<\/span><\/div>\n
On the day we died black dogs ran through the carriage.<\/div>\n
The cook buried his daughter in the soup.<\/div>\n
The groom severed the head of the bride and fed her remains<\/div>\n
to the horses.<\/div>\n
The children rank amok in the village while the sky filled with crows.<\/div>\n
Nurse maids fed spoons of brine to the landowner\u2019s baby<\/div>\n
While the old women of the town stirred crows feet<\/div>\n
Into the stew of the king.<\/div>\n
…<\/span><\/div>\n
…<\/span><\/div>\n
Like A Stranger Bringing Bad News<\/strong><\/div>\n
…<\/span><\/div>\n
…<\/span><\/div>\n
Too many mornings<\/div>\n
dressing in darkness<\/div>\n
the heart heals over,<\/div>\n
growing cold and forgotten<\/div>\n
like a tomb stone<\/div>\n
in neglected woods.<\/div>\n
The courtyard birds<\/div>\n
leave their nests,<\/div>\n
the winter world<\/div>\n
driving its long shadows<\/div>\n
across the tall grass,<\/div>\n
looming like a stranger at the gate<\/div>\n
then crossing the lawn,<\/div>\n
climbing the step<\/div>\n
and rapping the door.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
…<\/span><\/div>\n
…<\/span><\/div>\n
Tom Harding\u00a0lives in Northampton UK where, when not working, he writes poetry and draws. He has been published in various places including Parameter Magazine, Identitiy Theory, Unlikely Stories and Nthposition. He also maintains a website of his work at\u00a0tomarianne.net<\/a>.<\/em><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u00a0Folk Song … … On the day we died black dogs ran through the carriage. The cook buried his daughter in the soup. The groom severed the head of the bride and fed her remains to the horses. The children rank amok in the village while the sky filled with crows. Nurse maids fed spoons […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":934,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-1666","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\nTom Harding. 7\/12 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/tom-harding-712\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Tom Harding. 7\/12 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"\u00a0Folk Song … … On the day we died black dogs ran through the carriage. The cook buried his daughter in the soup. 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