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Our Last Horse by Terry McDonagh, Irish Poet, Playwright, Writer
I grew up on a small farm in the west of Ireland. It was hard work for everybody, but it was a time of transition: change from horses to tractors, which was a lot easier and more efficient but, somehow, the romance and legend went out of life on a small farm with the demise of the horse. Perhaps this has more to do with nostalgia than reality, but there is nothing wrong with a good bout of nostalgia. In truth we worked as hard as the horses.
When our last horse died
in the arms of the family
without leaving a foal,
we hung her things
on metal pegs in the shed,
legged it down the road
to buy our first tractor
and only looked back to
see if the drills were straight.
© Terry McDonagh