The priest's bay mare in the stable block Is distant; the beating of the clock Marks out the months in longshanked stride Since the Father died. And now the new priest comes by car And brings the curate to bless the scar That marks the spot of the jagged chip That cleaves my hip. It isn't much to miss, but still The horse's hooves in their four-square drill Fought the rule of the fragile priest So I thought of peace But the horseflies and mayflies are incessant today With nothing resisting the buzz of their play.