Eavan Boland - The War Horse lyrics

This dry night, nothing unusual About the clip, clop, casual Iron of his shoes as he stamps d**h Like a mint on the innocent coinage of earth. I lift the window, watch the ambling feather Of hock and fetlock, loosed from its daily tether In the tinker camp on the Enniskerry Road, Pa**, his breath hissing, his snuffling head Down. He is gone. No great harm is done. Only a leaf of our laurel hedge is torn— Of distant interest like a maimed limb, Only a rose which now will never climb The stone of our house, expendable, a mere Line of defence against him, a volunteer You might say, only a crocus, its bulbous head Blown from growth, one of the screamless dead. But we, we are safe, our unformed fear Of fierce commitment gone; why should we care If a rose, a hedge, a crocus are uprooted Like corpses, remote, crushed, mutilated? He stumbles on like a rumour of war, huge Threatening. Neighbours use the subterfuge Of curtains. He stumbles down our short street Thankfully pa**ing us. I pause, wait, Then to breathe relief lean on the sill And for a second only my blood is still With atavism. That rose he smashed frays Ribboned across our hedge, recalling days Of burned countryside, illicit braid: A cause ruined before, a world betrayed.