Dull mornings rarely on the ranch,
when overnight come dreams or mares,
for manna laid, new day, new dew.
Though horses foal or fillies flare,
the quiet rustle cloaked by dark,
as dawns that herd’s been whipped away.
Noise not just wind as lifted leaves,
but heft, this theft makes heavy day;
to raise a herd, hands spread on neck,
tall order when fears nag, fulfilled.
Stephen Kingsnorth (Cambridge M.A., English & Religious Studies), retired to Wales, UK, from ministry in the Methodist Church due to Parkinson’s Disease, has had pieces curated and published by on-line poetry sites, printed journals and anthologies, including Poetry Potion. He has, like so many, been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. His blog is at https://poetrykingsnorth.wordpress.com