“My old bay horse called ted”

Old Ted, my bay—his coat the shade  
Of chestnuts glinting after rain—  
A gentle giant in sun or glade,  
With winter whiskers on his mane.  

His muzzle, soft as summer dusk,  
Would nuzzle pockets for a treat;  
Dusty boots, the scent of musk,  
Four strong legs, the earth beneath.  

Through frosty dawns and golden wheat  
We’d trace the hedgerows, side by side;  
He’d prick his ears for fox or fleet  
Of sparrows rising in their pride.  

Beneath his tail, the swish of time,  
His hooves struck stories from the loam;  
We’d splash through brooks, or slow, or climb  
Hilltops crowned with marigold foam.  

His kind, deep eyes, the wells that spoke  
Of patience, wisdom, all things known;  
With steady stride he gently broke  
The tangles of my youth and grown.  

Now in the field, his days grow still,  
But sunlight dances on his hide.  
My dearest Ted, I love you still—  
My bay companion, friend, and guide.

Create Your Own Poem | Recent Poems