I leaned into his neck
– soft, warm –
a million scents of grass
and earth that with the rain had mixed
upon his coat of grey.
He was the only one
who understood the subtle change
of colour, as it moved
into the pale sky
at the break of day.
His feet moved
a little to the right
as if saluting,
hooves firm to the ground,
the Goddess of Dawn
in the fields of hay.
© 2011 rosie schriever
