As you say her name, your voice
drops deep, a tight raspy croak.
Not haunted with loss, but shaken
with awe to ever be gifted such a
mare. A few brief years in the span
of a human life is time enough give
a face character. You lift your chin,
pale lips giving way to smile-lines
under the brim of a hat, bright true
eyes with white-linen wrinkles fanning
onto cheeks, not weathered by sun, but
warmed by the light of a good horse.