Little Shy Horses
Step so gingerly.
They don't strut their stuff like other horses do.
Their nostrils never flair.
Snorting's not their style
But they're just waiting for their chance to be wild.
They unpretentiously let their mane fall to one side as
They quietly drink, first making sure they are completely
unobserved.
They yearn to frolic, to scrape and scuff the earth, to run
Like thunder across the open plain.
But the gate, which will remain forever shut, keep
Shy little horses, imprisoned behind longing, misty
Shy Little Eyes.
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