The Morgan Mare by Elizabeth Waters Goldmann
Tuesday, October 17th, 2006(please enjoy personally – not for commercial use)
Mayzie was a show horse, born and bred to pose
Statue-still for judges, looking down her nose.
Trotting ’round the show ring, mane and tail at flag,
Knees and hocks in cadence, this mare was no nag.
Mayzie won blue ribbons and wreaths of roses red,
Trophies gold and silver, enough to turn her head.
She wore a patent leather harness, drew a shiny cart of chrome,
In show rings she was a winner, from Nationals to home.
Mayzie made her owner smile and her trainer proud
With thrilling victory passes before a cheering crowd.
Yes, Mayzie was a show horse, born and bred to strut,
A diva with an attitude, a hothouse orchid, but…
Mayzie was a Morgan mare with blue blood in her veins
And always ready to step up when you picked up the reins.
Show season was over, leaves turning red and gold,
Summer’s fun was fading, the nights were turning cold.
One bright day the trainer said, “The open road awaits.
“Let’s hitch her to a sturdy cart and open up the gates.”
They said good-bye to wintertime and standing in a stall.
They said good-bye to tanbark turf and the arena wall.
Out the driveway gates they swung onto the open road,
Two happy humans in the cart and she never felt the load.
Her ears were pricked with interest as she looked down two straight miles
And her giddy humans in the cart had faces wreathed in smiles.
Her hooves tapped out the rhythm as she seemed to trot on air
And the good folk in the neighborhood stopped their work to stare.
How many hoof beats echoed as down the road they coursed?
‘Way back to Justin Morgan and the first Morgan horse?
Was she seeing snowy forests, hearing a jingling sleigh?
Was she pulling stumps or plowing or scything down the hay?
Was she preening for a general, or racing ’round a track?
Lugging maple syrup, or going on a hack?
Was she racing for the doctor up and down the hill?
Or hauling harvest to the town and flour from the mill?
Was she pulling a fine buggy to church on Sunday morn
After a week of reaping and bringing in the corn?
Was she a farmer’s pride and joy, raising colts to sell?
Galloping the kids to school, early for the bell?
Was she heading west across the plains into the setting sun?
Working like three horses from dawn ’til day was done?
Was she winning a blue ribbon at a state fair in the past?
Or winning bets from someone else who thought his horse was fast?
Two miles flew beneath her and time came to turn back,
Two miles flew away again on the homeward track.
It wasn’t just a country lane she traveled down that day,
It was a trip in history, almost a debt to pay.
Yes, Mayzie was a show horse, born and bred to strut,
A diva with an attitude, a hothouse orchid, but…
Mayzie was a Morgan mare with blue blood in her veins,
And always reay to step up when you picked up the reins.
Posted by Debbie.
