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 it hit me like a curse.
And I've never gotten better. In fact I've gotten worse.
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 my washing waves in vain
As I rush to get the horses in - in case it's gonna rain.
I spend up every cent I've got - on horsey stuff for sure
I buy saddles, bridles, fancy boots - and then I buy some more.
I can't sew on a button - I don't even try
But I can back a truck and trailer - in the twinkling of an eye.
It's jeans and boots that I live in night and day
And that smell of sweaty horses just doesn't wash away.
I ache from long forgotten falls. My knees have got no skin.
My toes have gone a funny shape - from being stomped on again and 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 it's where my heart is - more here than anywhere.
~ Author Unknown
This poem was sent in by a reader named Jodi and it touched my heart. While I live in Breeches instead of jeans, this poem otherwise fits me like a glove (a riding glove, of course!) My non-horsey parent couldn't understand my obsession but they allowed me to pursue it all the same and I thank them for that! And you should see my toes!
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