this is not a Thomas Hardy poem but I just have to share it - the poem is a two part poem written by Nina Nyhart and is in the book of prose poems entitled, The Party Train.
THE BEECH TREE
My childhood has left me, stomped out like a sullen child into the back
yard. I'm left here in the modern kitchen wondering what I did wrong.
But a child like that! Who can bare her moods!
It's late afternoon, dusk has wrapped itself around the beech tree, and
the child, too, is walking around the trunk, shoulder to the bark, as if
she needed to be touched, touched continuously.
THE CATCH
Last night my mother appeared on Walnut Street wearing a skimpy
white hospital gown, clutching a bunch of spring flowers--tulips and
daffodils, white lilacs. She said it only hurts when I cough. I wanted to
take home all the pieced of her, put her in a warm bed, bring her beef
broth, put the flowers in a vase filled with fresh water. I said Get in the
car, you'll catch your death. But she'd already caught it, light as a beach-
ball, red and yellow, white and green.
