Feeding Horses

FEEDING HORSES She was four years old Apples in bulging pockets from garden trees Cold day in autumn Stroll down to Paddy Sands’s horse pasture Stop at five-bar gate and lift her up Call or whistle - they come from a half-kilometre Black, brown mares, one gelding Jealous one tries to bite the others Jostling for position at the gate All those soft soft noses..... They will permit stroking If fed enough handfuls of grass Grass tastes better from our hands Than when cropped by them, (Especially with tiny flowers of blue vetch). Their big brown eyes close up So peaceful and trusting Tempting furry ears just out of reach for her Turning cold now after half an hour Spoil them with our apples before we go home Show her how to hold back her thumb So it doesn’t get bitten. Walk home through Sands’s cropped hayfield To tea and biscuits. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Written for Carol Brown's Contest "A Horse Story"