Today, red bluebells hang
happily off the mossy edge
of the steep ditch across
from the iron graveyard gate.
Above here is the bull field
where Sonny walked the well-fed
animal from the field to the shed
while funerals passed in through
the gates of Kiltoghert Graveyard,
his lowing sounds, a backdrop
to the sad silence of each body
entering the newly dug cold clay.

Every year we walked our four
cows on different days the half
mile journey for an animal visit.
We watched Sonny gently coaxing
and patting the large animal as
he fed him a bucket of clarinda.
Sometimes the cows stayed a few
hours and we collected them later,
always nine months later a calf
was born, guaranteeing milk with 
a further asset added to the 
farm helping to pay the rates.