Lest he miss other children, lo!
His angel is his playfellow.
A riotous angel two years old,
With wings of rose and curls of gold.
There on the nursery floor together
They play when it is rainy weather,
Building brick castles with much pain,
Only to knock them down again.
......
The old priest Peter Gilligan
Was weary night and day
For half his flock were in their beds
Or under green sods lay.
Once, while he nodded in a chair
At the moth-hour of the eve
Another poor man sent for him,
And he began to grieve.
......
FROM off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.
Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
Which fortified her visage from the sun,
......
If I rest for a moment near The Equestrian
pausing for a liver sausage sandwich in the Mayflower Shoppe,
that angel seems to be leading the horse into Bergdorf's
and I am naked as a table cloth, my nerves humming.
Close to the fear of war and the stars which have disappeared.
I have in my hands only 35c, it's so meaningless to eat!
and gusts of water spray over the basins of leaves
like the hammers of a glass pianoforte. If I seem to you
to have lavender lips under the leaves of the world,
I must tighten my belt.
......
'Does the blackened ruin, situated in the stony ground between Durraj and Mutathallam, which did not speak to me, when addressed, belong to the abode of Ummi Awfa?
'And is it her dwelling at the two stony meadows, seeming as though they were the renewed tattoo marks in the sinews of the wrist?
'The wild cows and the white deer are wandering about there, one herd behind the other, while their young are springing up from every lying-down place.
'I stood again near it, (the encampment of the tribe of Awfa,) after an absence of twenty years, and with some efforts, I know her abode again after thinking awhile.
'I recognized the three stones blackened by fire at the place where the kettle used to be placed at night, and the trench round the encampment, which had not burst, like the source of a pool.
......
spirit is his name
racing through field or meadow
he loves to run free
in the times of blooms
in the saffron colored dawns
or red sunset dusk
for apples he comes
and you can ride like the wind
......
One question I have now is this;
What kind of creature the horse is?
An animal who is exultant of his strength
And the brightness of his rustling mane.
Who made the horse to run so fast?
Who caused it to leap like a locust?
Who made it not to fear the harness and the saddle?
Who made it not to fear the harshness of the battle?
He is not shaken by the sharpness of the spear,
I seldom know an animal who laughs at fear.
......
I got a rocking horse for my birthday;
And my new horse is magic and special!
When we're alone, it rocks me far away;
But my colt is very gentle and careful.
My magic horse, flies me to fun places.
One night, it rocked me off to the moon!
We've seen the world and so many faces,
And we'll both be traveling again soon.
......
I’m not a horse…
I am a mule…
I’m not a donkey…
You silly fool…
I’ll let you in on a secret…
My dad is a donkey and my momma’s a horse…
But I love dem both just da same…
And dey love me back, of course…
......
The shining line of motors,
The swaying motor-bus,
The prancing dancing horses
Are passing by for us.
The sunlight on the steeple,
The toys we stop to see,
The smiling passing people
Are all for you and me.
......