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This very old poem below is being submitted to honor you, Chancellor,
who graced my life with your love and beauty for 10 years. I have no words
which can do justice to your intuitive nature and love for children or the
nicker you saved for only me.
I cried upon reading this poem when I was but a small girl; I still cry whenever
I read it. I believe it to be a fitting tribute to you for my heart will
always cry when I "read" you. Thank you for allowing my heart to break open,
rather than closed.
I will be there...wait for me, Chancey!
Mari
Old
Horse
"Grow old along with
me." That fits you well.
I in my prime, you in your first full strength,
That long-ago spring day I brought you home.
The man who wrote that didn't mean a horse.
Perhaps he might have, though, if he'd owned you.
For twenty years we've been contemporaries -
Now it is spring again and you are gone.
Each limber strap, each
well-worn buckle hole,
Brings back some line of you familiar as
This hand, and flocking memories of your long
Allegiance; pride that only love could humble;
Your vices, too, that really were your virtues
Too sharply edged by the deep wheel-rut of time.
You championed all off-side
prerogatives.
Concessions must be made nigh-side the neap;
That other had to be there, - you saw that -
To help hold up the yolk, but you held him
In low esteem. A nip for him - for me,
The understanding velvet of your nose.
You and I, always -
we were the team!
To know each other's crochets and respect them!
No innovations - proven ways were best -
Each year convinced you more and more of that.
We never did agree within two inches
On where a swath should end. For twenty summers
Those two-inch swaths proclaimed the "better man".
Cranky and proud as
ever you marched to your
Reward - testy because your stiff old knees
Would not obey the quick-step of your spirit.
A good swift death to ease your pain
And a deep grave. No pensioned ease for you -
You hated idleness. You would have seen
Through it, and seeing, it would've galled your pride.
Well, - I'll have to
change this harness some,
In places. The land lies waiting for the plow.
Author
Unknown
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Chancellor
