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Three horses graze on my land, one is a foal.
In the twilight and with gentle rain falling
they remind me of work horses of bygone
days when I steered the plough that made
furrows in dark, clean soil.
When I stroke their flanks the good aroma
of warm horse arises; dreams are endless.
In daylight they pretend to be boulders, but
even then they make the land serene. |
