Miles and Time

The spot on his leggin’s,

Where his rope rubs the suede,

It’s where the time of his labor is told.

And the bend in his reins

Is cast for all time,

A place for his hand to behold.

Ever so gently,

the crick in his kack,

Speaks of his miles aloud.

And the wear of his wood

Is proof of his grind,

To the end... if God will allow.

Heavy the air,

It seeps with his salt,

Cadenced and lathered he moves.

Forward he drives,

And forward his mind.

The beauty and beat of his hooves.

Building...his power,

Comes forth and through.

Not from his flesh all alone.

It’s the drive in his way,

The heart of his kind.

For his past these miles atone.

Covered in stride

They prowl through the plain,

Brisk through the fog they avow.

With vigor they stride,

Forth in their clout,

To the end, it’s honor they vowed.

Copyright © Shad Sullivan