Horse Sense

The horse in harness casts an eye of woe
and plods along her daily weary path.
Perhaps she dreams of places she could go
And disregard all masters and their wrath:

–Of endless meadows green with knee-deep grass
and running waters cool and fresh to drink…
–Of vistas wide and open…  but , alas…
these things a horse is not supposed to think.

So heavy hoofbeats mark the road each day
falls one after another, week by week.
She thinks of nothing more than oats and hay
and barely is aware her life is bleak.

It profits not to want what you can’t win;
A moral bitter, and a little thin…