Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2017
I remember how the clover was blooming
Reckless and scattered in vast
Swaths of golden sun
Bright and wild
Fragrant, free.

Across this pasture I remember
Flying, hands outstretched,
Rising in time to
His gaited steps.
His rhythmic breaths.

The scent of his clover-sweetened musk,
I remember, it was like
Earth and sage and rain
At dusk,

When you are crying in the barn,

Cradling his head,

In gentle, trembling arms.

I remember how the clover was blooming
At the brink of fall.
Reckless and scattered in
Thin swaths of graying tones,
Dying, free.
To you, my friend - my old brown horse. You taught me how to ride, and then my oldest daughter, and then her younger sister. Twenty-three years of riding through the clover. I miss you.
Caroline
Written by
Caroline  F/South Dakota
(F/South Dakota)   
853
         21
Please log in to view and add comments on poems