Said the Horse
Come on, said the horse, in the old back yard
made of bricks and buckets and cobbled stones.
Come on, said the horse, there are years to go
before Passchendaele has stolen your bones
or the Somme has buried all of your dreams.
No, these are the days you mustn’t forget.
Don’t wait, said the horse. There are lives to live.
Those I’ve escaped from have not found me yet.
They climbed on his back, took hold of the reins.
Let’s fly, said the horse, break free from the fold.
There are open roads and bridges not burnt,
Fields not yet wasted, or so I’ve been told.
Here are the photos: one boy and one girl,
one runaway horse who had found them all.
And their father, smiling, stopped from his work.
Hold on, he said, brightly, in case you fall.