Poem for the Day - Horses on the Hillside (from the Irish Suite)

Horses on the Hillside

An old world is taking place
just hanging there beside brush & lake.
Two horses, a mare & colt, graze on the
hillside, plumb with the lowering of cows.
They seem content in the softwood swirls
of green, of wildwood terraces.
It speaks volumes for them.
Dark & light brown rumps twitch. Muzzle to air
assumes the guise that no-one is watching.

Leaves fall without weapons. Birds tap
on old growth-rings of trees. This county

goes on the same, wearing its wings of colour
without the noisy flight of airplanes.  
Two horses in a paddock, looking at each other,
flaked grass in the corners of their mouths.

Listen, you can hear them whispering. 
Do they sense gutter fire, farmhouses alight?
Are the fields shaking off distant rumblings,
where now they live in the hollows
of grave stones? You say, a stream of men
still might come, saddle up, bolt away,
back into a conspiring night
of murder & mayhem.