Spectral Horse Poems No. 1: An Excerpt

Like A Lamb

In this age I idle am,
Like a glossy, ill-shorn lamb,
Who pranced upon unmown fields,
And to the fence never yields,
Nor a fold at evening seeks.

At the work-yoked ox I sneer,
Who ploughs his row, year on year,
And the cow forever doomed
To lunch be, which comes at noon,
While I from shady glens peek.

On wild grasses graze I good,
And the forest is my hood,
That repels both wind and rain,
And deflects whatever pain
The farmer’s son plots for me.

But sometimes I wonder if
There is a rule I have missed,
Guidance of a greater hand,
Which formed all parts of this land,
The farms and the forest free.

To worship is not a toil
The master who with love oils,
All moving parts of the earth,
And in our hearts kindles mirth
That to be as stars are we.

To shake and dance all the while,
In a thousand unique styles,
Which express the inner flame,
An ember of greater fame,
Of the God who made us all.

So when I wind dusty ways,
And sleep upon roughest hays,
Content I am now to be,
Mindful of the One who sees,
And loves, my untutored call.