Patrick Kavanagh

June Evening

An old plough at rest,
Its work done.
The broad fields coming gay-dressed
To the Priests of the Sun.

A tired horse out on grass,
Goats on a hill,
A tinker driving an ass
By the corn mill,

A beggar-woman dim
As remembered love
Poised on the flaming rim
Of the world. A drove

Of steaming bullocks rush past
In cloudy terror.
A star-child stands aghast
Before a mirror.

§ This poem is marked with a cross.
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