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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=460481" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>0024 Horses in a field</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">They seem to be thinking, soft-eyed, snuffling, cropping, <br>ears awake to many signals, <br>then move gently closer, <br>as if they were unaware, <br>rub muzzles, necks, <br>love each other silently, almost imperceptibly, <br>move away again as gently; <br>solitude in company may hide<br>what we do not hear; what we do not think</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the battle horse long retired<br>so skilled in life and death, <br>proud of many battles<br>he and his master as one<br>swords flashing, leaning sharply<br>this way that way<br>rearing for height flail smashed down <br>backward now spear and charge<br>a marriage sealed in blood<br>his master’s life saved many times</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the packhorse ridden in haste<br>through dangerous lands<br>with despatches that may<br>signal the start to war, or<br>sue for peace<br>its rider impatient to thoughtlessness</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the horses of the range<br>sharing the wild vigour<br>of cowboys, pioneers, <br>breathing the air <br>of a new country<br>themselves once wild<br>knowing the hills, the herbs, more than their masters</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the racehorse proud we think<br>to test itself, share the victory, <br>then at stud, to share its line<br>knowing perhaps in blood, <br>aristocracy; or not, who knows, <br>they do indeed look quietly proud</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the family stable horses, knowing<br>the love of boys, of girls, <br>besotted with their ponies, <br>talked to endlessly; too many sugar cubes</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the tradesmen’s horses, <br>the ploughmen’s horses, <br>who have learned more patience, <br>more obedience, than many<br>of their masters yet<br>tended well, most times<br>by those who need them<br>more than they say; but<br>how the children of those<br>they visit, run from the house, <br>loving to see them again<br>like old friends</div><div style="margin:10px 0">all remember, maybe communicate; <br>we hope they know - or would it make them sad -<br>that they too had their golden age.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Michael+Shepherd">Michael Shepherd</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=460481" data-title="0024 Horses in a field de Michael Shepherd" data-description="They seem to be thinking, soft-eyed, snuffling, cropping, 
ears awake to many signals, 
then move gently closer, 
as if they were unaware, 
rub muzzles, necks, 
love each other silently, almost imperceptibly, 
move away again as gently; 
solitude ..."></div>
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