Shades of Grey
Maureen Clifford ©
The Scribbly Bark Poet
Until the end of time she knew her heart would still return
back to where her love child was created.
It mattered not if fetters held her now against her will.
It mattered not if she no longer heard the whippoorwill
or rested ‘neath the shade of Ironbarks high upon a hill
she knew that union was by Gods feted.
She’d live her days in this new place - the work was not so hard
at least she received kindness and respect
and soon all thoughts of escape seemed to leave her troubled mind
no longer did she plan to leave, for here she found life kind,
no worries about food or drink and those she’d left behind
she could in truth no longer recollect.
Except for one. She thought of him on nights moonlit and clear
when shadows shifted soundless in the breeze.
She thought then of the son she’d born just as day was dawning
when wraiths of grey mist cloaked the hills, in retreat as the morning
sent gold sunbeams to warm her foal, the brand new day adoring,
until the stockwhips echoed through the trees.
He galloped close beside her over snow gums over creeks.
His smoke grey hide was lathered in a sweat.
She couldn’t cut and run for he would never stand the pace,
she slowed to keep him near her, letting the other mares race
in a mad dash for freedom. It was not her time or place.
She was captured. No time then for regret.
They were part of the brumby cull though that they didn’t know.
Too many horses running wild and free
in national parks across the land – a hard hoofed equine band
destroying habitat ‘twas claimed and compacting the land.
Removal was the answer, and the cure...cull and be damned.
A single shot had bought him to his knees.
The Scribbly Bark Poet
Until the end of time she knew her heart would still return
back to where her love child was created.
It mattered not if fetters held her now against her will.
It mattered not if she no longer heard the whippoorwill
or rested ‘neath the shade of Ironbarks high upon a hill
she knew that union was by Gods feted.
She’d live her days in this new place - the work was not so hard
at least she received kindness and respect
and soon all thoughts of escape seemed to leave her troubled mind
no longer did she plan to leave, for here she found life kind,
no worries about food or drink and those she’d left behind
she could in truth no longer recollect.
Except for one. She thought of him on nights moonlit and clear
when shadows shifted soundless in the breeze.
She thought then of the son she’d born just as day was dawning
when wraiths of grey mist cloaked the hills, in retreat as the morning
sent gold sunbeams to warm her foal, the brand new day adoring,
until the stockwhips echoed through the trees.
He galloped close beside her over snow gums over creeks.
His smoke grey hide was lathered in a sweat.
She couldn’t cut and run for he would never stand the pace,
she slowed to keep him near her, letting the other mares race
in a mad dash for freedom. It was not her time or place.
She was captured. No time then for regret.
They were part of the brumby cull though that they didn’t know.
Too many horses running wild and free
in national parks across the land – a hard hoofed equine band
destroying habitat ‘twas claimed and compacting the land.
Removal was the answer, and the cure...cull and be damned.
A single shot had bought him to his knees.
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