I Was Better At Loving Horses

I was better at loving horses
A pension's worth of gentleness
graced their large eyes
and they were curious at conversation
so I spoke quietly, deferring
to their occasional crunch of feed,
glancing away discreetly
from their personal needs
Unsaddled and waiting for the next
human whim, they loved to run,
or roll, or lower their long lashes
and sleep, their slow breathing
drifting through fogged morning air
An occasional shuddered neigh
as heartfelt as a sympathy card
as though they had known lost love
But we had our warm beds
And we were fortunate to be fed
with all the hungry children
and all the hungry horses in the world,
Broken, all of us, into obedience -
forgetting not to rear when beaten

Reviews

[Donald Meikle]

you were better at loving life. Horses make a great paintbrush though.

[Phibby Venable]

thank you, Donald, very fine of you to say!!

[Michael G.]

I find this write very soft and tender in my mind's eye. Almost melancholy, in a way. It has a quiet flow to this.
You made me see that gentle horse in his barn. And I could smell all the smells of the hay and other smells of the moment. Well written.

[Phibby Venable]

thank you so much, Michael!xx

[Michael G.]

You're more than welcome.