Time passeth.
The muse, dormant ere these past few months, hath the lead pulled out and applied pencil to paper once again.
Finally.
Those unfamiliar with the quirks of the equine may, perhaps, suppose us to be a humourless lot.
On the contrary, there is no limit to our mischievous nature.
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Sonnet XIX
In truth I mind my own in still of night,
With darkness as a shroud upon my wit.
Yet door left unsecured to my delight
Illuminates this horse to open it.
Free, at last, I wander down the aisle
To yonder hay pile first, confess I must,
To eat my fill whilst donning hooded smile:
One must not flaunt one’s luck ‘round those who lust.
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Thus sated, amble I throughout the barn
Dispatching in my wake a cake or two,
And with a friend or few share I a yarn
As party animals are wont to do.
And then as morning breaks back to my stall
I’m lead to say “Good night!” to one and all.
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Thanks for visiting.
See you anon at Poet’s Paddock!
Shakespeare “The Equine”
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Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2013
