Through turnips
and year old hay
unnamed till then
I saw her yellow mane
flaming in the morning sun
and named her Golden.

There I saw the filly rise
into a spring song and wet her
nose in the pond
shake  her head and bray
proud I was of her.

Who shall be mating?
My youthful filly, growing into
her maturity, Black shadow, or
Orion, or Majestic, the white Arab
long and tall.

Gallop to my fence, my sweet , take this candy.
Absorb the sun and all the oats you can eat.
Run, like my forefathers free
and innocent.
Golden.