top of page

Pasture Horses

Pat Tyrer

There are no words in my satchel

to write of the horses in the fields.

Their handsome faces turn my way

curiously questioning my intense gaze

through their Chestnut eyes unblinking.

Their beauty is in their size, their stance,

their breath in plumes of vapor from the cold.

Stance firmly ensconced in the dusty

paddock sure of their footing and their

belonging in an enclosed world.

Someone once told me that a horse

can’t see behind itself—our commonality.

Having never been close enough to touch,

My experience is beyond the fence; shaded

a bit in trepidation of this unknown entity.

Previous published in The Legacy

bottom of page