When the horses talk to me,
They tell me many things,
Whats and hows of yesterday,
Why the nighthawk sings.
I learn the meaning of the dance.
Between animals and men,
They inspire me to take the chance,
To look back on where I’ve been.
On this plain where we live,
In the circle at the center,
You receive more than you give,
When privileged to enter.
So I close my eyes in trust and walk,
And listen, to the horses talk.
Copyright © Debra Coppinger Hill | Year Posted 2005
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