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DEBBY DEVER
Polk, Ohio
About Debby Dever

 

 

 

 

Sigh of the Stallion

A speckled Spanish mustang, rugged as the hills he roamed
Stands staring through the twilight toward the mountains he called home
Across the painted desert to the canyons tinged with red
His thoughts drift like the wispy clouds which hover overhead

The world which he grew up in disappeared, and all too soon
The scattering of lizards and the stillness of the moon
The freedom of the prairie and the wild untamed plain
The feeling of the western wind through ears and tail and mane

Now trapped within the fences of this unfamiliar home
No human hand has touched him yet, but soon that day will come
His instincts strong, his senses sharp, his eye for danger keen
His struggling spirit cannot comprehend what this could mean

He drove his band through rough terrain for almost fifteen years
Searched far and wide for water that was drinkable and clear
To pastures lush, to feed his mares, each paint and black and bay
He bore the scars of challenges from stallions on the way

And now the food is plentiful, no need to seek it out
Where troughs of endless water are delivered by a spout
He paces back and forth at night, his anger rants and reels
His days spent in confusion from the uselessness he feels

Where are the mares he guarded from the predator's attack?
The vampire bats, the coyote, the prowling mountain cat
The foals he nipped and nudged to teach the hard survival rules
Of poisoning gigantillo and of silted, rancid pools

His mares and foals have disappeared, sold from him one by one
Some destined for the factory, and some another home
The stallion searches desperately and stamps his anger out
Within the confines of his fence, but they cannot be found

The rancher who corralled them on that sad and fateful day
Sees promise in the stallion and does not send him away
He plans to break and breed him to a dozen handpicked mares
And start a line of ponies to which nothing can compare

Now quiet stand the canyon walls and empty lies the plain
Where once a sea of hoofbeats thundered like the driving rain
And somewhere in the silence you can hear the stallion sigh
A sad and constant yearning for those precious days gone by.

© 2006, Debby Dever
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


Debby told us this poem was inspired by a favorite childhood book, Wild Mustang: A Horse Called Dragon by Lynn Hall.

 

Three Amigos

Crazy was a trail horse, so I’m told
Traveled many paths, ‘til he turned old
Carried many greenhorns, very tame
Laid-back, undeserving of his name.

Gentle ghostly gelding, failing eyes
‘Bout to say his tragic, last goodbyes
Ralph and Rose, our neighbors, saw his fate
Rescued him, retired at twenty-eight.

Mystico joined Crazy—what a pair!
Pregnant, mild-mannered, mini mare
Crazy joined her at the hip, it seemed
New best friends, a rather awkward team.

Almost blind, he trusted her to lead
All day long, on clover they would feed
Lita soon was born, her name meant "joy"
Crazy seemed a giant, playful toy.

Frisky Lita kicked her heels with glee
Crazy was her grandpa, seemed to me
Lita nipped and teased her patient friend
Crazy raced her up and back again.

Trailer came, took Mystico to breed
Crazy missed her, anyone could see
He and Lita roamed the field alone
All rejoiced when Mystico came home.

I don’t know what horses sense, it’s true
But blind or not, I’m sure that Crazy knew
These three amigos, when snow disappears
Come springtime, will become four musketeers.

© 2008, Debby Dever
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

 

 

 


About Debby Dever:

Debby lives in Polk, Ohio with her husband, sons, and an adopted daughter who shares her love of horses (as you can see by the photo). 

Although their dream of owning horses of their own has not yet been realized, her daughter has had the opportunity to attend horse camps to prepare her for the experience. At this point Debby says, "She will probably be teaching me someday."

 

 

 

 

 

 

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