Alchemic Verse

Every morning, they come back
Nibbling at new tips of grass
No shouts or arm-waves or whips cracked
Free the horses; they come back

Every morning they’re unearthed
Parchment buried deep in dirt
No peat or lime nor grave inert
Rot the paper; they’re unearthed

Every morning, shoo and spade
Protecting from the pressure bade
Inadvertent eggshells laid
Keep me digging and away

Every morning they come back
No heart to shoot or burn the pack
So repeat toil on sunrise track
Though freed and buried, they come back