Morning In the Stable

The unexpected heavy thud of netted hay on solid wood. My horses snort and sigh and chew, as glistening cobwebs sway with dew. There is comfort in their rhythmic chomp, on seeing me they grunt and stomp. Stamping an insistent need for feed, all eyes upon me fixed by greed. I mix the chaff, the beet, the grain, as stable gates take up the strain of thick set chest and plunging neck while I do bend to their call and beck. Our daily ritual now in full swing, the rubber skips I'll lift and bring 'till steady chomp and grind return, in the warm sweet smelling peace I yearn.