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James Yorkston
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The Capture Of The Horse
That morning we awoke undisturbed from a night that had only recently ended
We had no idea of the history of the bed in which we lay in
All we knew now, we must escape from our kind but drunken local hosts
I claim this time ours, for exploring as the day unfolds
The capture of the horse was the aim for a pleasant afternoon's riding
Our hung-over heads proclaim 'night rules apply'
Last time I rode I was thrown by the barking of some greyhound
But I say not a word; for we'll never catch them, why break the spell?
We exchanged the softest of ballads either side of the tiniest of streams
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You still dressed like some unkempt Japanese lady and you're laughing
as I murdered the Gaelic that I have never learned or had any want or will to do
I fear your foreign bedfellow is an uneducated fool
We climbed high above Lough Ine, Oh the memory's overwhelming
Coming ready or not and you're caught in the burling of the bracken
Tears, blood and laughter and you swore at the stupidity of the branch
And at our stupid adventure and at my coarse and idle hands
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