Marigold horse prancing in the meadow,
yellow smile of sunshine,
eating grass and clover,
searching the hedgerows for berries,
nickering nicely as he sucks an early cherry,
tart but full of bright red sugar,
like the eye of a young angel on holiday
- a thought to give him momentary pause
but then the fruit is swallowed, stone and all
and angels are dismissed as he gets the scent of the sea
and running swiftly over the fields,
feels the ghost of foam laughing in his mane,
a remnant of old tales of mermaids and, yes, sea-horses!
Marigold horse shouts and rushes down the shore,
hooves unsure of sand,
softer and more mischievous than solid land,
rippled with the patterns of waves
but then he is in the Sea itself
and the ocean beats against his chest,
splashing him with friendly fists
and shouting loudly in his ear.
Welcome at last, Marigold horse,
but what has kept you so long, my dear?