he will come when you call-
come to you over the far, dim pastures of death,
And down the remembered paths to your side again
And though you ride other living horses through life,
They shall not shy at him or resent him coming,
For he is yours and he belongs there.
People may scoff at you,
Who see no lightest blade of grass bent
By his footfall,
Who hear no nicker pitched too fine for insensitive ears
People who may never really love a horse;
smile at them, then
For you shall know something that is hidden from them,
and which is well worth knowing:
The one place to bury a horse is in the heart of his mistress.