Horse In The Rain

Old horse, old woman, rain Three year old granddaughter, rider The rain is dreich. It falls steeply and wet On a windless day, where the cold gnaws at your knuckles The horse plods on, in the soft, churned mud Like a driven missionary, carrying a message Hoof after hoof, along the pilgrim path How many times has he carried little souls upon his back Gentle, accepting, generous spirited creature? How many rainy days and frosty nights of time Do we share in common, like broken bread gone stale? He pauses a moment, the groom adjusts his straps And I lean into his head, press cheek to jowel, To feel his earthy warmth, his honest, horsey smell His eyes look down, he suffers me to whisper Into the soft flute of his ears There is acceptance, but there's no response The rain pelts on remorseless Do you remember your foal-time, Which hands have combed your mane That you have loved? You will never add to your equine bloodline now And my last grandchild rests upon your back, We are both out to pasture, Apart from the occasional turn around the field We have both endured the heavy halter of work Enjoyed the bluebell chimes, the snowdrop Angel feathers Month after month, you chewed the hay in your manger Carried your burdens, bedded down each night Now, we are old and slow, our galloping days are done I nuzzle your nearness. I listen to your breath We have outlived so many of our companions Meanwhile, my granddaughter rides high As a princess on some fabulous steed. The rain hammers on Like the wood foot pedals of an organ I watched my brother's feet, in my calf-time Tapping out notes with his toes, chords from his finger No Pegasus of the keys, driven on by will, his own Old horse, old woman, rain Three year old granddaughter, rider The rain is dreich. It falls steeply and wet On a windless day, where the cold gnaws at your knuckles Where the mist, like a scene from Dante, hides the future