I Am The Weather 'Youngest Foal' - Poem by Andrew Nawroski
Fetlocks fore-hoofs find glorious percussion
On earthly pace doth trot
Graceful gaited smooth equine no lancelot.
Through wooded fawns and barren land
Your engaging soul makes its stand
To warm and beds you soon
Then rest for all in angels moon.
Awaken! noble sire!
Tread your way through thorny briar
For man he waits and cruel is he
To take you down that stony road
Where you’ll nay be free.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You