Horse Poem

Why do I like horses?

 I think I must be mad. 

My mother wasn’t horsey - and neither was my dad. 

But the madness hit me early - and hit me like a curse.

 And I’ve never got much better. In fact, I’ve just got worse.


 My stables are immaculate. My house is like a hovel. 


Last year for my birthday - I got a brand-new shovel.
 
I hardly read a paper - but I know who’s sold their horse.

And I wouldn’t watch the news - unless Mr Ed was on, of course. 

One eye’s always on the heavens - but washing waves in vain. 

As I rush to get the horses in - in case it’s going to rain. 

And though they’re wearing 15 rugs, the best that you can get, 

I bring them in to keep them dry - while I get soaking wet. 

I spend every pound I’ve got- on horsey stuff for sure.
 
I buy saddles, bridles, fancy rugs - and then I buy some more.
 
I should have had my hair cut - or bought that nice blue shirt,
 
At least it wouldn’t now look ripped and showing up the dirt. 

I can’t make the books balance - so I don’t even try. 

But I can back up a car and trailer in the twinkling of an eye.
 
It’s jeans and joddy boots that I live in night and day.
 
And that smell of sweaty horses just doesn’t wash away. 

Once every now and then I dress up for a ball,
 
With make-up and posh hairdo- and high-heel shoes and all.

I ache from long-forgotten falls. My knees have got no skin.
 
My toes have gone a funny shape from being squashed again.

But late at night, when all is still- and I’ve gone to give them hay, 

I touch their velvet softness and my worries float away.
 
They give a gentle nicker and they nuzzle through my hair.
 


And I know where my heart is - more here than anywhere.