each heartfelt backslap
some swishing, some snorting
each horse is wearing
large hearts of glad greatness
each stall protection
come storms without warning
each on our passing
so well loved and gave rest
November Night
By Jeanne M. Mirabito
Batten down the hatches,
set the mash to warm
darkness on horizon,
speaks of unnamed storm.
Thunder in the distance
horses on the run
shelter sought, earned and bought
through years of work before.
Wind whipped manes
eyes ablaze
they settle in their stalls
dry and warm
safe from the storm
that foretells the end of Fall.