Lost World
Two horses in their field of green
Do not know how lucky they are
Away from the modern industrial scene,
Of the chaos and pollution of the motor car.
Large and black, this father and son,
Bright brown eyes, half shire horse,
Gallop towards us when they see us come,
Their hair outflowing and looking coarse.
We feed them apples at the gate
From the palms of our hands
Which their huge soft lips gently take,
Nodding their heads where they patiently stand.
They are like two old friends,
Who we see once a week,
So glad to see us, who never pretend,
So very strong and so very meek.
We don’t need words, just the odd neigh;
Who the owner is we do not know,
Though they always have a supply of hay,
They’re from a world the car has made us forgo.
Derbyshire March 2017.
Copyright by D. J. Brennan.
