Rufus, Rufus running wild.
Herds and birds all scatter' round.
When his mane and boarding fleas
And feet barely touch the ground
Whirlwinds running through his eyes,
Only visions does he see
Were his step a little quicker
Then a rabit he would be.
Rackety, rackety go his hooves
Beating with them, days gone by:
Riffle; Rocket… Rufus now
Together breathing a heavy sigh
Arching backs were made for saddles;
Or maybe saddles made them bend.
Our spirits free to run and fly,
Riding Rufus has no end.
On arrival at the kraal
Mother sweeps while father strokes
His grey beard as he recalls,
Days when horses knew their folks.
“My son, ” he says, “welcome home”
Testimonies spoke’ by sweat.
Herds of cattle in the kraal;
Rufus’ footsteps won’t forget.
so glad you asked me to look - I love this, absolutely love it. Never fear, there are still horses who know their folk. 10
days when horses knew their folk forged in friendship as hooves and arching backs write their story of love profound. nice, flowing, friendly, liked this a lot
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
And one such horse would be me... at least so I can pledge! ! ! No worthy word from any poetic folk will go unnoticed, and these are no exception. Don't know how the pen goes on paper though, but 'rackety, rackety' the horse's hooves certainly go. Yes, I said ten; numerically, that is!