Villanelle for IS

Pony Ride, 1992

I perched upon the broadness of his back.
When I looked down the ground was far away.
His eyes were softly brown, his mane so black.

My legs were very short. I felt the lack
of stirrups, for when horses move they sway.
I perched upon the broadness of his back.

After a turn or two I thought I had the knack
and freed one hand. The coat I touched was bay.
His eyes were softly brown, his mane so black.

I rode him – or was led – along the track,
not wanting to get off until I heard him neigh.
I perched upon the broadness of his back.

When it was over they brought him to the rack
from which he ate and let me feed him hay.
His eyes were softly brown, his mane so black.

I stood and watched them taking off his tack.
And listen: my life with horses started on the day
I perched upon the broadness of his back.
His eyes were softly brown. His mane so black.