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the horses

the horses Three horses graze on my land, and one is still a foal. In the twilight and with gentle rain falling they remind me of the horses of bygone days when I steered the plow that made furrows in dark, clean soil. When I stroke their flank, the good aroma of warm horses arises; dreams are endless. In daylight, they pretend to be boulders, but even then, they make the land serene.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2025




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