Spring

Shakespeare waits for spring

Spring is here;
Brings with it change.
My life and habits
Rearrange.

With paddocks closed
Alas, to dry,
Amuse myself in
Stall, must I

With dreams of fresh
Green grass to eat.
I count the days with
Stomping feet.

On warmer days
Bid rugs farewell
And feel sun on
My back a spell.

With joy I revel
In its beams,
As through the window
Pane it streams

Upon my shiny
New spring coat.
Handsome and dark,
But I won’t gloat.

And birds, they sing
Their song so sweet.
“Tweet! Tweet! Tweet! Chirp!
Tweet! Chirp! Tweet! Tweet!”

While buds appear
And set to bloom,
Adorning our great
Garden room.

Yes, I love spring
A time of joy.
Reminds me I’m
A lucky boy.

*

I do love the spring, although I must say this one is taking a long time to settle in. Such changeable and erratic weather patterns — rugs on one day; off the next. And we’re in that part of the season where the larger paddocks are closed and recovering from the perils of winter, so turnout is shorter as we all take turns in the smaller paddocks.

But the inconvenience is so temporary. One of these ever-finer days we’ll be back on all-day turnout languishing in the warmth of the sun. I’ll be bobbing for apples in the water trough (the Scribe promised), and we’ll be working outside and then enjoying the occasional soapy bath followed by extended periods of grazing with the Scribe at the other end of the lead shank. (I need to keep track of her somehow.)

Yes, spring is a special time of year full of hopeful anticipation of warmer days to follow.

I do love the spring.

See you next time in Poet’s Paddock!

Shakespeare “The Equine”

All rights reserved. Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2011

2 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by Barb N.Teddy on April 25, 2011 at 8:40 pm

    Very Old ChestnutHorse (well, I don’t look my age) to Very Young HorseChestnut (whose appearance is stunning indeed!)

    I’m feeling good
    And so I should:
    I’m truly loved and cherished.
    My tummy’s fine
    My eyes still shine
    But, gee, I almost perished.

    Our muddy spring
    Is just the thing
    To muster lust for life.
    The scents, the sun,
    The fun to come
    Offset bleak winter’s strife

    Spring is magic, Bear, my dear,
    Good health to you throughout the year!

    (Not quite the poet I was, I’m afraid but I’ll work at it)

    Reply

  2. Dear Teddy,
    Thou art bold indeed;
    A brave and oh, so
    Noble steed.

    Tis glad, I am,
    Thou didst pull through.
    For thee the boys
    Didst root, t’is true.

    And great t’is thou
    Hast yet the touch
    Of soft, sung bard;
    I like it much.

    Yes, magic Spring,
    Makes hearts e’er glad.
    A carrot toast
    To thee, my lad!

    Reply

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