Horse
A pool of shadow
Shapes the lonely place
Where the old horse stands.
He shakes his head.
Remote from
Cows, sheep, people,
It seems farming proceeds
Around, beyond him.
His tufty fetlocks ape
The head-heavy cow parsley,
Hair grass, oval sedge
Unheeded at the field’s edge.
He’s not far from the farmyard,
Where a stick-figure person
Strides towards the dark-doored
Corrugated iron shed.
Across the sloping meadow
There’s a splattering of stones,
Yellow-shadowy,
Birds twittering and flittering,
And sheep, clusters of them,
Bleating, munching, staring
At the comforts
Of the known home farm.
A fidgety hoof
Scuffs the bank, the long head sways,
And he stands, spectre of
What’s always far away.