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.
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