~ Elizabeth Waters Goldmann
Wednesday, August 9th, 2006(Please enjoy personally – not for commercial use)I have a little Morgan who goes in and out with me.
He helps me with the chores and jobs around the barn, you see.
He sees me fill a bucket and wants to do his part,
Tipping buckets over is his perfected art.
If I rake up the shavings into a tempting pile
He shuffles through them with his feet and has been seen to smile.
When warm, I shed my jacket and put it on a hook—
That jacket’s dusty on the floor, and what an impish look!
If I doff my cap and set it upon a shelf
He doesn’t even miss a beat then claims it for himself.
I hang the shovel, broom, and rake out of his reaching scope
Yet find those tools across the yard entwined in his lead rope.
The chains and latches on his stall would make a locksmith cry
But he lets himself out at night and doesn’t even try.
The blacksmith’s long suspenders are such a tempting target,
He’s gotten swats and reprimands that he’ll not soon forget.
‘Tis said a raccoon’s got the art of prying garbage cans
But my little Morgan’s got him beat and does it with no hands.
In fact I think if ever Morgans grew opposing thumbs
We’d soon be wearing saddles and wondering who was dumb.
My Morgan thinks the light switch is installed for his amusement
And flashes Morse code all night long to neighborhood’s bemusement.
He knows the sound of different cars and when it is the vet
My in-your-pocket Morgan suddenly plays hard to get,
But let the feed man rumble in and to the barn pull up
That wild stallion of the plains is friendly as a pup.
My Morgan waits til dead of night to get cast in his stall
And beats a tattoo with his hoofs against the stable wall.
By the time I grab my slippers and the flashilight by the door
He’s snoozing peacefully again, can almost hear him snore.
He’s seldom ever sick or lame but always picks a date
When he know the vet’s vacationing in another state.
My Morgan is a sturdy guy who scoffs at rain and snow
And pulls his blanket o’er his head when it’s fifteen below.
He gladly eats his rations of oats and grass and hay
And gladly samples human treats that often come his way.
Peppermints and carrots don’t ever make him choke
And he’s also nibbled chocolate cake and washed it down with Coke.
My Morgan likes his grooming and if you’re in a rush
He’ll help by rubbing on you and handing you the brush.
So eager for a ride is he, I say for what it’s worth,
He’d put his saddle on himself if he could cinch the girth.
He’s happy in the show ring trotting ’round the rail
But if you want to see those ears perk up just head him down the trail.
He’ll be the fastest walker, friends will jog to keep abreast,
You’ll get admiring glances ’cause you’re mounted on the best.
I have a little Morgan who goes in and out with me.
I’ll tell you then a secret, between you, me, and that tree—
This little Morgan is my friend, my confidante for sure,
He’s heard me laugh and sing and weep and his love is pure.
He doesn’t laugh at my mistakes or snub me when I’m wrong,
His crested neck accepts my hugs and is forever strong.
His eyes are soft and gentle, when my day’s been a struggle,
He bows his head to nose my hand, all ready for a cuddle.
When life is good and I’m on top his antics never seem to stop,
He greets me with a happy nicker and is a full-blown, all-time stinker.
He’s heard me call him naughty names and never seemed to feel ashamed,
Yet when I feel the grief of loss he’ll not so much as give a toss
Of his mane and noble head,
He lets me cry and stands his stead.
I have a little Morgan who goes in and out with me.
He’s won his share of ribbons (look at the wall, you’ll see).
But it’s not the ribbons on the wall that endear him to my core,
But the fact that he’s a Morgan and he gives a little more
Than other kinds of horses who may be bright or fast
But my little Morgan is the one I’ll have until the last.
I have a little Morgan who goes in and out with me—
I’ll bet you know a Morgan who goes in and out with thee.
Posted by Debbie.
