Page:When we were very young.pdf/80

I went into a house and it wasn’t a house—
Slow white petals from the may-tree fall;
But it hasn’t got a blackbird,
A blackbird,
A blackbird,
It isn’t like a house at all.

I went into a house, and I thought it was a house,
I could hear from the may-tree the blackbird call. . . .
But nobody listened to it,
Nobody
Liked it,
Nobody wanted it at all.

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