Sam Ryder
She takes flight like a strike of red lightning
stretched across a harsh emerald sky.
as the horn sounds, the blood hounds
are freed from rattling chains
and begin the chase.
She weaves her paws in and out of the trees,
past the spikes of snares, under hedgerows,
and past a sense of fear, to the stillness
of another field,
but it is not long until her scent
is discovered once again.
They chase her, with the weight of Éire
on her back.
They case her, the men mounted
on high horses, as cruelty cackles
with the crack of a whip.
They set upon her like wildfire,
blazing scorched on her trail,
as her heart drums
to galloping hooves
gaining ground on her tail.
With paws pressing damp
into the marshlands,
she vanishes into the tree-line,
threading through trunks,
running circles around savagery
with grace,
and the weight of Éire
on her back.
