Buhezioù tremenet

LIVES PASSED

 

The old barn

 

A respectful pilgrim

In the portal of a sanctuary

I stopped to look

At the scene, astonished.

"All around, on every peg

Harnesses hanging

Dust-covered equipment, cobwebby

Trappings of horses

In one corner a furze-crusher

And other disguised tools"

Museum or ossuary?

Open to the four winds

No need of a door

These things were left

And who would come to take them?

It's hardly with leather

That bicycles are harnessed

And it's not with dwarf-furze

That they are fed.

 

The stable

 

The door is closed. Locked.

Its windows well hidden in the tall grass

One old horseshoe remains

On the stone horseblock

On the half-moon shaped window

There is still a pair of hobbles.

 

The well

 

The iron and wood bucket is rusty.

The chain of the winch is red

Moss is growing on the step

And tall grass between the stones

Green with moss

Are its five cornerstones.

Modest ivy hides

The dislodged stone at the well-top

In which a sparrow nests.

 

June 1967.