Hooves and Feathers: Patchwork Pony Poetry

by SecondPrances

Old Horse

An old horse leans on his broken shovel
and wipes his brow
from another days hard-earned sweat
He wipes away droplets
while ponies trot
not taking heed
of his presence.
They bustle and hustle
to work
shopping
those places
that busy ponies go

A foal with its mother stops
and looks
at the old horse
Eyes sparkle full of curious intent.
The old horse nods
They acknowledge each other
Then he goes back to work
digging holes
or something

He doesn't mind the work so much
Working with his hooves is what he was born to do

He hopes he sees the foal again

years ago,
he loved a mare
who was always on the go
and liked pretty things
and sparkly things
his measly income wasn't enough
for fancy pearls and fabrics

he loved a mare
but love was never enough
for a mare like that
but at least
he still gets to see his daughter
now and again.