Les Chevaux Canadiens, They Give

Their striking movement reveals their perfect balance,as they turn, and run in rhythmic cadence.

Yet suddenly, they halt and are standing square, their presence forcing us to stare.

As we admire their noble existence, they turn toward us and suddenly take notice.

And with their soft, perceptive eyes, they direct their gaze, upon us who idolize.

How precious are these great spirits? Who know and trust, those of us who care. As they come to give, what they have to share.

On their beauty, our eyes do feast. And our hands, they tremble, as we reach, to touch, these beloved black beasts.

They give to us their power, under harness, to pull our carts. They offer us their strength, under saddle, to bear our weight.

They give so much, how can we ask for more? Those soft Arabic eyes, they are upon us once more.

Now please, the time has come for us, to learn to give to them, for what they give to us.

Their eyes do pleed for time to rest and play, that they might give to us another day.

So we take notice, of what they have to say, while their kind eyes reflect, their thanks today.

And now we know for this, they must depend on us.

To understand,respect,protect, and love entirely, so they can live, to give!

So rare . . . it is. People claim to know it, But they don't show it.

My horses, a rare breed of gentle, giant, black beauties. They know it. They show it.

So unique . . . they are. People call them a commodity, often losing touch with reality.

My horses, a rare breed of gentle, giant, black beauties.

I often notice their unique identity, And feel the presence of their majesty.

So precious . . . they are. People call them valuable, Often attaching a dollar value that's unbelievable.

My horses, a rare breed of gentle, giant, black beauties. Their dollar value to me? It's mystically undeterminable.

So why . . . is it? People don't understand that I turn away so readily, As they pursue so fervently their tangible, valuable, commodity.

My horses, a rare breed of gentle, giant, black beauties. Toward them I choose to turn so eagerly, accepting what they extend so effortlessly.

A mystery . . . is it? Some people wonder what it is I find those horses give. My horses, a rare breed of gentle, giant, black beauties.

They give to me a treasure, and I strive to return the pleasure.

So rare, so unique, so precious . . . it is. A treasure so cherished, even more than gold, But few have ever shared, the kind of love we hold. My horses, a rare breed of gentle, giant, black beauties.

They know it. They show it.

This poem is about my Quarter Horse, Jesse. Despite all my passion and enthusiasm for The Canadian Horse, I will forever be grateful for the time I have had with him. He is enjoying his retirement at 21 years of age and will have his own special place at Mystic Château Acres forever.

His agitated, newly shod hooves pranced upon that cement floor. Creating sparks, that danced and I wondered, what for?

His nostrils pink, his eyes wide and showing white. These made them think it was he who chose to fight.

Yet to touch him, I felt I must. We would get along; I could earn his trust. His spirit was just strong.

He looked at me with his suspicious watch eye, while I gently stroked his soft, pale coat of gold.

I trusted him, as he taught me to ride, and his trust I earned as he grew old.

The years flew by and took their toll. When suddenly, his head, he began to toss. But why I did not know. I simply was at a loss.

I sought an answer and began to realize why so many thought he chose to fight.

But when I looked into his eyes I knew that they were just not right.

He taught me patience and determination as I refused to give up and simply exchange

And I discovered the source of his irritation as he taught me to accept the things I could not change.

Once I knew about his pain, and accepted it could not be changed.

I realized my trust in him was not in vain, for what I've learned he had explained.

I trusted him. He taught me much. I've learned at times I must accept.

He trusted me. He let me touch. And, to touch became a token of this trust we've kept.

One day the angels will come to close his eyes and the absence of his touch will be painful to accept.

But memories of the way he let me touch will quiet all my cries,

And I will smile as I remember him, but only after I have wept.