The Chestnut Mare

Of all the things that I forgot,

I am reminded of the spot,

Where meadows waved upon a hill,

With split-rail fences.  Trees were still,

And nestled in a darkened wood,

Wearing a sleepy, leafy hood.

Tied to a rail, the chestnut mare,

Ready to go, her back was bare.

I climbed up, grabbed her by the mane,

Riding bareback, without the strain,

Of a girth pressing her belly.

I knew her body under me,

No saddle on to separate

Joined together, we left the gate,

And on the gallop, moved as one,

A bee bit her, we’d just begun.

She bucked, and threw me off her back.

For a moment my sight went black,

Then brightened in the summer sun.

I’m very glad she didn’t run.

Losing the hardhat that I wore,

My fingers searched for something sore,

Her reins in hand, I headed home,

To groom her with a curry comb.