It could have been a day just like this
when it all kicked off:
Henry off to quash a Welsh rebellion,
Hotspur sensing his chance for glory.
Both converging upon this place
And both ending the day
With an arrow in their face.
I bet not much has changed:
The hawthorn hedge in full flower,
The hazy heat, the lowing of a bull
And the milestone, a white shield in the sun,
Weather-rounded and smooth, like a skull.