DONKEYS They are not silent like work-horses Who are happy or indifferent about the plow and wagon; Donkey's don't submit like that For they are sensitive And cry continually under their burdens; Yes, they are animals of sensibility Even if they aren't intelligent enough To count money or discuss religion. Laugh if you will when they hee-haw But know that they are crying When they make that noise that sounds like something Between a squawking water-pump and a fog-horn. And when I hear them sobbing I suddenly notice their sweet eyes and ridiculous ears And their naive bodies that look as though they never grew up But stayed children, as in fact they are; And being misunderstood as children often are They are forced to walk up mountains With men and bundles on their backs. Somehow I am glad That they do not submit without a protest; But as their masters are of the deafest The wails are never heard. I am sure that donkeys know what life should be But alas, they do not own their bodies; and if they had their own way, I am sure That they would sit in a field of flowers Kissing each other, and maybe They would even invite us to join them. For they never let us forget that they know (As everyone knows who stays as sweet as children) That there is a far better way to spend time; You can be sure of that when they stop in their tracks And honk and honk and honk. And if I tried to explain to them Why work is not only necessary but good, I am afraid that they would never understand And kick me with their back legs As commentary on my wisdom. So they remain unhappy and sob And their masters who are equally convinced of being right Beat them and hear nothing. -- "Donkeys" from "Stand Up, Friend With Me," by Edward Field, 1963. Edward Field was born in 1924 in NYC, contributed regularly to the "Evergreen Review." Donkeys have been an intregal part of Ireland.