Cake For All the Birthday Horses Everywhere...
...but especially mine.
Thank you, Samuel, for sharing the last decade with me. I don't know how many more years we'll have together. I hope it's many, but I'm a practical sort and I understand I have to hand you back at some point. We all have to hand everything back at some point, which is how things get to feel like such wonderful, special gifts while we have them.
I wrote this about three years ago, but it's as true today as it was that night.
Once it was a dead man’s waltz
past post and rail. I stood inside your rote laps
while you begged the question -
Who had mistaken such dull-eyed compliance
for obedience?
For years, we tug o’ warred our way to here.
Me? Yes. I am your hopeless
fool. And you? My jester, King and country.
I love our two steps back on each advance;
you are my ceaseless Everest.
On nights like these, I would trade our journey’s end
(what madman wants to arrive, and where?)
fill my pockets with stolen minutes
(let the crickets pass them while we play)
Nothing beyond
my words and your bent ear.
The years are all the rope we need.
You shine, my love -
and wend your devil’s way
toward a soft and willing acceptance
of my extended invitation.
May you never do as you are told,
my perfect scoundrel.
Happy birthday, my Samwise Gamgee. Twenty four years old today. Thank you for helping me to be a better horsewoman and a better human being every day.
Thank you, Samuel, for sharing the last decade with me. I don't know how many more years we'll have together. I hope it's many, but I'm a practical sort and I understand I have to hand you back at some point. We all have to hand everything back at some point, which is how things get to feel like such wonderful, special gifts while we have them.
I wrote this about three years ago, but it's as true today as it was that night.
Once it was a dead man’s waltz
past post and rail. I stood inside your rote laps
while you begged the question -
Who had mistaken such dull-eyed compliance
for obedience?
For years, we tug o’ warred our way to here.
Me? Yes. I am your hopeless
fool. And you? My jester, King and country.
I love our two steps back on each advance;
you are my ceaseless Everest.
On nights like these, I would trade our journey’s end
(what madman wants to arrive, and where?)
fill my pockets with stolen minutes
(let the crickets pass them while we play)
Nothing beyond
my words and your bent ear.
The years are all the rope we need.
You shine, my love -
and wend your devil’s way
toward a soft and willing acceptance
of my extended invitation.
May you never do as you are told,
my perfect scoundrel.
Happy birthday, my Samwise Gamgee. Twenty four years old today. Thank you for helping me to be a better horsewoman and a better human being every day.