For Christy Hennitty
You could see his mighty forearm
From off a long long way
It was forged to lift a fetlock
Back in older days
He was quick of wit and temper
His knuckles were of iron
It was foolish now to cross him
But that’s a lesson learned
Boy he could swish the rapier
And he could crack the whip
Many a long toiling day
He’d shorten with a quip
He could throw the fifty-six
And likewise wield the scythe
And undisturbed about him
Few sleeping dogs would lie
And yes, a fly was dangled
For every passing trout
From any fool who took the bait
The mick was relished out
But all that said no furrow
Was ever straighter ploughed
With pride and care and love
And art and skill endowed
And humble, even gentle
That’s handed down some way
But sure, it’s only natural
His mother was McVeigh
And there in an old photo
I see that same forearm
It was Peter and some others
When still the forge was warm
It’s timeless now, that forearm
That impudent half smile
For feathers must be ruffled
As the rasp will smooth and file
And the mare will stamp her hoof afresh
And trot off now, clean shod
Here’s a quick up, edge, slow down salute
Aye, that was some day, by God!
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