The grass, after light rain this morning,
is luscious and the russet mare is busy grazing,
her golden-brown foal watches
crows land to pick at fresh manure
then jumps in the air for the shear exuberance of being
and chases the birds off the field.
Annoyed they take flight
circle around and land again.
Seeing me, by the gate,
it trots over I reach out and touch the foal’s muzzle
that is softer than velvet,
and then it bucks runs back to the mare
tries to suckle
she won’t let it
and the foal begins grazing too.