14 MARCH 2020

14 March 2020

my soft living has dulled my instincts.
probably from the misgivings of a promising youth (or so I’m told)
and so I am stuck here,
but mostly out of choice

my head has the heart, but just no stomach for the stay
and when I thought my work was almost done,
I find, there are still wolves in the wood line,
from a suspiciously, early winter
and, again, I find it is time to pull the calves to the farmhouse before the frost
or be willing to take the loss

so, saddle in hand, I stop and grab a breath, to prepare a grunt///
and in my age, I feel lost…
lost in my sentimental thoughts and comfortable yesterdays…
when I rode the horse of my youth
and saddled the horse of my own choosing

now, I have no choice but to point my horse to the wolves, in the snowy hills,
and leave the comfort of the grassy meadows, in the valley I call home

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