Evening Epitaph Poem by Michael A O'Donovan

Winter rushes in as the sun enters the hill
that and the wetness has darkened everything on the northside
but in this glen two forts look out
watch each other
and the sun enters the hill.

I stood in the lower one beside the river
a circlet of snow
the days so short
I saw a hen harrier go over into the west
looking for a change in the weather
and I listened to the curlews that I'd seen the night before
above the road
as I looked out from the fort.

A hare carved a path through the snow
nowhere for him to go
still her despite the relentless hunting
(That leveret I found one spring day
out on the headland
so beautiful and alone
I often think of him
softest fur and big dark eyes)
but that place is gone too and him long dead.

The magic of the ringfort will not protect us
and ohh how it howls this night
the air is storied with fallen things
and the dreadful hand of man.
And the hound dog that I found
sundered from the pack for days by the look of him.
The wind had brought a week of black rain
and the rain took all the smells and memories of that hunter.
He never made a sound when I found him lying in a ditch.
At that moment his eyes frightened me.
His was a great hunger
staring open mouthed like the damned.
I beckoned to him for the last time
the final command
his tired feet found the onyx road.
So gentle and weak, he died that night in a neighbor's barn.