They went around the arena,

Walking, Trotting, cantering,

In perfect harmony.

Her hair flew with the freedom,

Hands to her sides like wings.

“Look at me I’m flying!”

She the girl-child, so very young,

And he, the gelding, so very old.

They flew and gave to one another.

She gave to him a job anew,

And the love of a child so pure,

Without knowing, he gave her power and liberty,

Not often bestowed on one so young.

And so, the two, were the very best of friends,

Her secrets he never told.

And when his step became less than graceful,

She hugged his neck and said, whoa, boy, it’s okay.