I recently ran across this poem. It is rather sad as life always has a way of seeming to be sometimes. I think we have to know the sad to fully appreciate the happy times in our lives. Most of us have an old guy (or girl) out in our field and those horses have taught us volumes of knowledge and skills; many of which surpass our physical bodies and touch our emotions to the core making us caring, thinking, human beings.
The old girl standing in my field didn’t turn out to be the perfect dressage horse, but never would I say she wasn’t (isn’t still) a great horse. She was my closest friend when I needed one the most, through the formative years of high school and college. In her stall, I found refuge and familiarity as I dealt with a new home and life that was not. Her fuzzy muzzle the only constant in my life as I struggled to find myself and who I was supposed to be. She has known seven homes during the 13 years I have owed her, six of them boarding barns. Each move she would eventually settle in learning a new routine and making new friends. Now, I am happy to say she sits not in a boarding barn, but in my own paddock on my own farm.
I credit her and her gifts to me as a listener, partner, and friend with much of my success in life. Here is one for our old guys!
Just an Old Grey Mare
What do you see owner, what do you see?
What are you thinking when you look at me?
An old grey mare not very wise,
uncertain of habit with far away eyes.
Who drags her hooves and makes no reply
when you say in a loud voice, “I do wish you’d try!”
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
and is forever lame in a leg or two.
Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,
with grooming and feeding…the long day to fill.
Is that what you’re thinking, is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, owner, you’re not looking at me
I’ll tell you who I am as I stand here so still,
as I move at your bidding, as I work at your will.
I am a month old foal with my Mother,
she cares for and nurtures me, we love each other.
A playful two-year old with wings at her feet,
hoping there’s patience in the trainer she’s to meet.
A trusting mount at the age of four,
carries her riders ten miles and more.
At six now I have a foal of my own
who I nurture and teach to live on his own.
As the years go by I raise more foals,
carry more riders on the trails and in shows.
At twenty only the smallest ride upon my back,
for power and strength is what I lack.
At twenty-five once more foals play at my knee,
for someplace to put me…a babysitter I will be.
Now at thirty dark days lie ahead,
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
I may be an old mare, and nature is cruel,
it’s her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body it crumbles, grace and beauty depart,
now there’s a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young foal still dwells
and now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
I am loving and living life over again.
I think of the years of life are too few, gone too fast,
and I accept the fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, owner, open and see,
Not just an old grey mare, look closer, it’s me.
-Susan Tank
Dedicated to all senior equines
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