Rusty

Look at that Chestnut,

His coat gleams in the morning dew, 

Glazed in a sheet of dust, 

He runs with spirit, 

Will he ever stop? 

He halts,

Hot breath fogging in the cool morning, 

Wild eyes fixed on.. 

Me? 

Does he notice me? 

Or the carrot in my hand? 

I snap back to reality. 

I needed a reminder, 

From the whinny of my dear old Rusty.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741