scheherazade
Well-Known Member
Dear All
I was asked to do a dressage poem so here goes.
I hope that you will like this
I really hope you do
So for all you dressage divas
I wrote this one for you
With apologies to Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your cool when all around you
Are losing their control and falling off.
If you can understand terms meant to confound you
Like half pass, travers, renvers, near and off.
If you can train, and not get tired of training
Or transitions, at the markers, bang on cue
Or centre lines, that don't give way to wobbling.
Yet see things from the judge's point of view.
If your dreams are filled with cadence and expression.
If your thoughts are focussed on your horse's brain.
If you can meet with rollkur and with tension
And treat those two imposters with disdain.
If you can bear to hear the Scales of Training
Twisted, tortured, pulled into a frame;
Or watch some nitwit seesaw on their snaffle
And Stop. And sigh. And build them up again.
If smartness and precision are your passion
With shiny boots and matchy-matchy hues
You've more than just the vaguest sense of fashion
And can name each shade of Anky's many blues.
If you can fill those several minutes ridden
With balance and impulsion to the end.
And persuade your horse to dance as he was bidden.
Then dressage is the sport for you, my friend.
I was asked to do a dressage poem so here goes.
I hope that you will like this
I really hope you do
So for all you dressage divas
I wrote this one for you
With apologies to Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your cool when all around you
Are losing their control and falling off.
If you can understand terms meant to confound you
Like half pass, travers, renvers, near and off.
If you can train, and not get tired of training
Or transitions, at the markers, bang on cue
Or centre lines, that don't give way to wobbling.
Yet see things from the judge's point of view.
If your dreams are filled with cadence and expression.
If your thoughts are focussed on your horse's brain.
If you can meet with rollkur and with tension
And treat those two imposters with disdain.
If you can bear to hear the Scales of Training
Twisted, tortured, pulled into a frame;
Or watch some nitwit seesaw on their snaffle
And Stop. And sigh. And build them up again.
If smartness and precision are your passion
With shiny boots and matchy-matchy hues
You've more than just the vaguest sense of fashion
And can name each shade of Anky's many blues.
If you can fill those several minutes ridden
With balance and impulsion to the end.
And persuade your horse to dance as he was bidden.
Then dressage is the sport for you, my friend.
