Porkie
Well-Known Member
I came across this poem that is used by the Veteran Horse Society, written by Philippa Porley that I thought I'd share with you all - it brings a tear to my eye everythime I read it !!
My boy is 26 - and I love him with all my heart. I hate to think that not all veterans are as lucky as ours in their golden years.........
"A Horse's Prayer"
Don't forget me when I'm old
Don't leave me out there in the cold.
With little shelter, warmth or hay:
to stand despondent night and day.
it happens 'oft - they think it kind
to leave their faithful friends behind.
'Retired to grass' the phrase well known,
for those too old; too lame; outgrown.
But stop! And think - on freezing nights,
when gleaming gold the stable lights
can still be seen far, far away,
by those stood patiently all day.
Through frosty forlocks dull brown eyes
blink slowly 'neath the winter skies,
remembering love and oats and hugs,
and stable licks, and duvet rugs.
The sodden grass is now their floor
instead of deep lain barley straw.
Forgotten forms - they stand in vain
and no-one comes or calls their name.
That life has passed, and thus they wait
with tired limbs to reach their fate.
So when you ponder all I've won;
when competition days are done,
and quieter times my years dictate,
please think of this 'afore too late.
by all means turn me out by day
on winter morns to prance and play -
but when the youngsters take your time
remember I was once so fine.
And lead me in when nights grow cold
- please don't forget me when I'm old.
My boy is 26 - and I love him with all my heart. I hate to think that not all veterans are as lucky as ours in their golden years.........
"A Horse's Prayer"
Don't forget me when I'm old
Don't leave me out there in the cold.
With little shelter, warmth or hay:
to stand despondent night and day.
it happens 'oft - they think it kind
to leave their faithful friends behind.
'Retired to grass' the phrase well known,
for those too old; too lame; outgrown.
But stop! And think - on freezing nights,
when gleaming gold the stable lights
can still be seen far, far away,
by those stood patiently all day.
Through frosty forlocks dull brown eyes
blink slowly 'neath the winter skies,
remembering love and oats and hugs,
and stable licks, and duvet rugs.
The sodden grass is now their floor
instead of deep lain barley straw.
Forgotten forms - they stand in vain
and no-one comes or calls their name.
That life has passed, and thus they wait
with tired limbs to reach their fate.
So when you ponder all I've won;
when competition days are done,
and quieter times my years dictate,
please think of this 'afore too late.
by all means turn me out by day
on winter morns to prance and play -
but when the youngsters take your time
remember I was once so fine.
And lead me in when nights grow cold
- please don't forget me when I'm old.
