Rites of Passage by Thom Gunn

Something is taking place.
Horns bud bright in my hair.
My feet are turning hoof.
And Father, see my face
― Skin that was damp and fair
Is barklike and, feel, rough.

See Greytop how I shine.
I rear, break loose, I neigh
Snuffing the air, and harden
Toward a completion, mine.
And next I make my way
Adventuring through your garden.

My play is earnest now.
I canter to and fro.
My blood, it is like light.
Behind an almond bough,
Horns gaudy with its snow,
I wait live, out of sight.

All planned before my birth
For you, Old Man, no other,
Whom your groin’s trembling warns.
I stamp upon the earth
A message to my mother.
And then I lower my horns.

From: Leeson, Edward (Ed), The New Golden Treasury of English Verse, 1980, Pan Books: London, p 491.

Date: 1971

By: Thom Gunn (1929-2004)