Drawing hard the fresh morning air
fear is now on display.
Her nostrils snort then flair
as help seems far away.
Toward the homestead she gallops at pace
hugging the fence line straight,
morning dew is displaced from her face,
as onward she continues to accelerate.
At the corner, where two fences meet,
now only meters from the house
She calls, paces and stomps her feet,
Till’, appear the master and his spouse.
Speaking words she can’t understand,
though, fearful eyes are universal.
Trying to consol with gentle hand,
is now, a frantic Mrs. Purcell.
Trotting forth from whence she came,
concerned couple close behind.
Purcell’s fear, they find hard to contain,
terrified of what they will find.
Through the lower paddocks foggy haze,
before their eyes the scene’s unveiled.
Her first born foal of just five days,
on a picket stands impaled.
Grief from both mothers was plain to see,
when Mrs. Purcell led the mare away.
Down the woman’s face her tears ran free,
as her thoughts turn to another tragic day.
The foal was buried amongst green clover,
placed next to another small mound.
Both mothers now often walk together,
share sadness without making a sound.
David J Delaney
DAVID J. DELANEY
Ears spike skyward, then swivel atop her head
Twitching, and listening for a sound.
Eyes that search as she stands overhead,
hooves anxiously stomp solid ground.