Colcannon

We broke bread at dawn Cold and shivering Faces dirty, hearts weary the kettle boiling over a dying fire tea meant to soothe our bones and joints aching a bubbling soup hits our nauseous bellies and we fight to keep the swill down covered in grease from that horse we had to put down yesterday war is no place for a noble beast but man feels right at home at first. and then he longs for his own hearth the wooden floors muddy with boot and paw prints ears burning from the wife's incessant nagging and the fresh scent of laundry set out to dry left overnight. again. the grunt of the pigs digging in the slop. Slop far more agreeable than this soup. And that trusty steed alone in the stable. But a fence has no business caging a noble beast. A man feels right at home. At first. But then he longs for those nights of his youth. The girls, the wine, the merriment. The friends, long gone in some war. Perhaps this one. No one to answer to but his dog His own two legs carry him everywhere Free, free is the only place for a noble beast But a man is no horse. Though he is a beast.