His
breath hangs like silk in the still morning air As he patiently waits by
the gate. He must think it's a beautiful day for a ride Nevermind the
chill winds that I hate.
I watch from the window and he knows that I'm
there. Guilt is his weapon of choice. He watches the house,watching me
watching him. His desire to go needs no voice.
Only for him do I
visit his land. Of desolate, frost ridden fields. For I, unlike him, am
not armored by hair I loathe wind and the snow that it wields.
He
craves the sharp crack of ice neath his feet, The cadence of hooves on the
ground, The chill whip of his mane in the wind, It whistles, his
favorite sound.
I'm like a hothouse flower, But he's more the
evergreen tree He dreads the heat and I hate the cold Spring's the only
time we agree.
But only for him, I reach for my coat and pull on my
long underwear Stuff my hands in my gloves, find my warm hat and take
him up on his dare.
He nickers to me as I leave the house Knowing
he's getting his way He's right..... if it weren't 20 billion below It'd
sure be a beautiful day!!
The neighbors, they call us "The Frostbite
Express" When down the lane we flee leaving hoofprints behind us, in the
deep snow This big, hairy horse, and
me.
