Why Do I Like Horses

Why do I like horses? I think I must be mad.

My mother wasn't horsey - And neither was my dad.

But the madness hit me early - and it hit me like a curse.

And I've never gotten better. In fact I've gotten worse.

I hardly read a paper - but I know who's sold their horse.

And I wouldn't watch the news - Unless Mr. Ed was on - of course.

One eye's always on the heavens - but my washing waves in vain

As I rush to get the horses in - in case it's gonna rain.

I spend up every cent I've got - on horsey stuff for sure

I buy saddles, bridles, fancy boots - and then I buy some more.

I can't sew on a button - I don't even try

But I can back a truck and trailer - in the twinkling of an eye.

It's jeans and boots that I live in night and day

And that smell of sweaty horses just doesn't wash away.

I ache from long forgotten falls. My knees have got no skin.

My toes have gone a funny shape - from being stomped on again and again.

But late at night, when all is still - and I've gone to give them hay,

I touch their velvet softness and my worries float away.

They give a gentle nicker and they nuzzle through my hair

And I know it's where my heart is - more here than anywhere. 

~Author Unknown