Watching Steeds

From the sanctity of weeds,
I hear the virginal clip, clop,
And I have spent many hours watching steeds,
My head visible from its reddish top.

But between the intermittent weight
Of a falling horseshoe,
The horse hoists up his freight
And does not see the likes of me, or you.

The rider does not notice my thereness,
But the horse catches me by a grouse,
Gathering a glint in his eye, an awareness
Like an elephant afflicted by a mouse.

He will not give me that kind of credit.

He will not let me be a stigma
On his fine gentry.
He will deem me a roadside enigma
Without the warm glow of entry.

And onto a mare…
Onto a mare who does not care…

by loquist62
posted on 05/09/2008