We borrowed the loan of Kerr's
To go to Dundalk with butter,
Brought him home the evening before the
And exile that night in Mucker.
We heeled up the cart before the door,
We took the harness inside —The straw-stuffed straddle, the broken
With bits of bull-wire tied;
The winkers that had no choke-band,
The collar and the reins . . .
In Ealing Broadway,
London TownI name their several
Until a world comes to life —Morning, the silent bog,
And the God of imagination
In a Mucker fog.
