Equine respect.
Mother and daughter. Here is a Poem I wrote about Racehorses a few years ago, obviously the ones above are no Kings of the turf, but still to be respected.
I may not love, but respect your masters, and I admire these horses, Proud strong in spirit never break them, as I once nearly broke, Teach them manners and respect, Never use frustration as a weapon, for as with fear they sense it, confidence is key to their trust, The thundering flesh haunts the gallops, hooves like pistons they pound the turf, powering through the mist, on the dew shrouded earth, Their sense of flight shall never leave them, for they are not machines, though they can easily turn bitter.Elegant, and graceful in their work columns, one after another they charge, like steeds into battle, always alert, and stirring the soul, Go quiet amongst their kind, when they retire to their quarters, exercise over for another dawn, let them prepare for combat between the rails, and dream of the sweet smell of springs sward.
Equine respect.
Mother and daughter. Here is a Poem I wrote about Racehorses a few years ago, obviously the ones above are no Kings of the turf, but still to be respected.
I may not love, but respect your masters, and I admire these horses, Proud strong in spirit never break them, as I once nearly broke, Teach them manners and respect, Never use frustration as a weapon, for as with fear they sense it, confidence is key to their trust, The thundering flesh haunts the gallops, hooves like pistons they pound the turf, powering through the mist, on the dew shrouded earth, Their sense of flight shall never leave them, for they are not machines, though they can easily turn bitter.Elegant, and graceful in their work columns, one after another they charge, like steeds into battle, always alert, and stirring the soul, Go quiet amongst their kind, when they retire to their quarters, exercise over for another dawn, let them prepare for combat between the rails, and dream of the sweet smell of springs sward.