Never put the cart before the horse.
I settle my seven year self upon his back
Sixteen hands high and easy.
He is old and the color of milk and coffee.
He has lived in my grandfathers orchard so long
I need not tell him where to wander.
We click clack along the path
Through the fruit trees and the fairy rings
Until we reach goosegogs and the brambles
Shamble left toward the greenhouse and pause.
I see the dreaded chrysanthemums. The colours
So ugly and petals so encroaching I feel we are
Choking so we turn to the old roses that row us away.
He’s a grand old boy is Jack, he never scares the chickens
And always hears my mother’s voice when she calls me away.
So off we go to where we began, I slither down and walk away
And Jack becomes the cart again until next time I play.
Poetry by jenks
Read 379 times
Written on 2021-01-29 at 02:34
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Cart Horse
His name is Jack.I settle my seven year self upon his back
Sixteen hands high and easy.
He is old and the color of milk and coffee.
He has lived in my grandfathers orchard so long
I need not tell him where to wander.
We click clack along the path
Through the fruit trees and the fairy rings
Until we reach goosegogs and the brambles
Shamble left toward the greenhouse and pause.
I see the dreaded chrysanthemums. The colours
So ugly and petals so encroaching I feel we are
Choking so we turn to the old roses that row us away.
He’s a grand old boy is Jack, he never scares the chickens
And always hears my mother’s voice when she calls me away.
So off we go to where we began, I slither down and walk away
And Jack becomes the cart again until next time I play.
Poetry by jenks
Read 379 times
Written on 2021-01-29 at 02:34
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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