“The Race” by Seamus Heaney

The race at Clarke’s MillIts quick surly gleamUnder brick walls and willowsBlackwater trenchChannel of lavishAll in the earA hiss then and ripOf wheels on wet tarmacLike hot steam let offAlong the Broagh RoadWho’s that on his bikeTears on cold cheeksA grandfather deadLittle more than an hourHim first with the newsMost odd to be cryingAnd pedalling hardThe breath of fresh airAs old as the hillsFull in his faceHis eye on the road—Seamus Heaney (1939-2013)This is drawn from “The Poems of Seamus Heaney.”