We flew that wall, the mare and I.
Now suddenly we pass it by;
Was it not just the other day?
She pricks her ears - I turn away.
Must all that joy belong to the past?
Is there nothing left that still can last?
Perhaps a way may yet be found -
Yes, there is a lesser middle ground.
The call of the trail, the glow of the ride -
a woodland walk with shortened stride;
For the sun still warms and water gleams
as ripples flow down the tumbling streams.
The wind blows fresh and spirits mend
with the horse you love - that comforting friend.
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2002, 2003 The Horse Lover's Corral