Wind in My Mane
Moon-tipped treetops covered
rolling hills painted over by whinnies echoing from afar. The crisp evening air
twirled the dark flocks running above my dapple-grey neck.
My deep, round eyes whispered,
“I’m a gentle spirit, yearning to please” as a childish bewilderment blanketed my
regal physique; I am a colt in horse’s clothing.
Like a puppy, I had rested
my head in her lap after those caring hands groomed my growing belly, all the while
I licked my droopy lips in response to her soft-toned praises.
Then, when tepid silence
befell the twilight-swept pasture, encouraging slumber in its arms, I called to
the herd in shrill-pitched searches for my four-legged sentries.
Finding them, I sighed and
turned her way to say, “I’m thankful you brought me here to shed past pains and
sleep every night with the wind in my mane.”
