Posted by: Peadar Ban | December 21, 2010

For Who Is Born

How long?  It will be some days.
The days will be long, nights longer
Weather cold, wind stronger
On the way.  On the way

He will lift you on the little beast
Waiting there, nor yours, nor his.
Patient little beast of service,

You’ll sit his back.  The least
Of all become the guest.

Maid of morning riding eighty miles
Through wind torn tree strewn hills

Hawks and eagles circling high
Watching dumbly wonder
From their cold weak thermals why

The shelter of a cave
For who is born to die to save?

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