Bones Over The Mountain

Dropped from 8 hands high,
stirring up the dust.
A virgin breath beside a pro
was a maybe and a must.
The first steps on wobbly knees
were hard enough to bare.
No one knew what troubles would come
for this beautiful white, baby mare.

Spurts of energy would strike tall legs,
across the field she'd fly.
Wild and free, gentle and loving, not for sale,
no amount of money could buy.

Stronger leeps, stronger bounds,
stronger breaths she took.
To see her was to fall in love,
she had you on the hook.

She was the most beautiful thing
a little girl could ever see.
Magnificently glamorous,
and she belonged to me.

Then nature stepped in and took it's course,
weakness had bestowed her.
Growth would not continue,
without nurishment from the mother.

Pushed away with mighty force,
strong legs began to wobble.
Pains of hunger and loneliness
rushed in with every hobble.

Upon the ground she laid her head,
with dew along her body.
Cold, still, motionless,
no love from her mother.

She could have grown up
beautiful, strong and mighty,
with love from a little girl
flowing like a fountain.
But some dreams die, and now shes just,
bones over the mountain.


Dana Word
)2000