In winter 2016, I had the opportunity of living just outside Roscrea for ten weeks. Often, I would cycle into town from the Fancroft area to buy groceries. I always stopped to admire a small stable of horses, usually curiously looking out over the wooden half-doors.
I was once lucky enough to see half a dozen horses let loose from confinement, after a particularly rainy week. They gamboled, pranced about, and bucked like broncos. They chased each other, and rolled ecstatically in the mud. Their joy was infectious and I tried to capture all that equine playfulness in the below poem.
Heel kicking horses, frolicking with fun,
freed from dark stables and into the sun,
clockwise and anti, riotous they run.
Hear many hooves, rumbling their thud,
speeding from sheds, proclaiming all good,
joyous imprints indent wet messed mud.
Nostrils neighing, playing chase games,
waving womanly breeze-streamed manes;
soon they’ll be saddled, bridled and reined….