Richard J.P. O'Grady
Wide-eyed, my little son
will not pass the humpy,
cobbled bridge, without a point
Try to imagine, " I once explained,
" laden packhorses in a train.
Each attached to the one in front,
nodding sagely as they plod
on unshod hooves, clop-clop, clop-clop,
up and over, on their journey,
from south or north, depending, wending.
Hundreds have passed, delicately picking,
slipping, sliding, pushing, pulling.
Can you not imagine their echoey neighs,
or groans of protest as they stumble,
or see their shapes across the gloom divide
which separates us from another world
and time long by? "