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Books About Life on a Farm Written Especially for People Who Like to Read! "Highly recommended reading." The Midwest Book Review Reviews & Readers' Comments |
LeAnn R. Ralph Rural Route 2 Author E6689 970th Ave. Colfax, WI 54730 (715) 308-6336 |
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by LeAnn R. Ralph  LeAnn & Red sharing a hug.
Red passed away on December 11, 1998. He was 32 years old. Here is a poem I wrote about my old quarter horse. Technically, it's written in ballad stanza. A ballad tells a story in rhyme and often contains an element of the supernatural. The supernatural, in this case, is that this is what Red would tell you if he could talk... I'm just a poor little pony. A quarter horse by trade. I used to go in right fine style Sterling silver, gold and braid. You see, I once was a show horse But not in the usual sense. Me and my partner made Westerns to entertain the ladies and gents. We'd stage some noisy gunfights and bodies would fall on the ground. I'd run a few steps then stand and wait For my partner to come around. "Mighty Barr," he'd say to me, "It looks like we've done it again." "Why look at the smiles on all those faces, "I think we've satisfied their yen." Then we'd parade around the arena, My partner doffing his hat. We'd do a prance and a sidepass. I was as pleased as the proverbial cat. But my show days ended abruptly. My partner let me go. He fell on economic hardtimes. Another sad tale of woe. My papers changed hands quietly. To another pasture I was sent. No more shows and arenas. It was a life of leisure I spent. Oh, it wasn't really a bad life, My days in the sun and the rain. I had plenty of grass to munch on, And in the winter, a man brought grain! For several years I stayed there, watching others come and go. But no one came to claim me. I had no one, friend or foe. Then on one bright and clear spring day, my life had changed I sensed When the man came out to get me And led me over to the fence... "This here's that ol' red geldin' I thought you'd like to see. He's been aroun' an awful looong time... I'll sell him if you've got the fee." OLD!! I thought, I'm not that old! I think I'm only eight. But before I could think about it anymore, A woman had come through the gate. She ran her hands over my dirty hide, picked up all four feet. Stroked my blaze, kissed my nose, and said "Gee, you're pretty sweet." Well -- before I could think about it anymore, I was led over to the barn. Brushed, saddled, bridled, Then the woman grasped the horn. She put her foot into the stirrup And swung her leg around, Settled into the saddle And we took off with a bound. Why, I could harldy fathom it, her weight was so little and slight. My previous partner had been a giant, I had worked with all my might. Now the woman comes to see me and we ride both night and day, Along the Kettle Moraine trails In August, December and May. I guess I don't miss the show life. It was a terrible grind. But this new-found woman of mine Has a dreadful habit I find. She kisses and hugs and pets me, Brushes, bathes and picks. And if I was hurt badly, she'd get the vet to fix. But she doesn't call me Mighty Barr Or anything near so grand When she walks out to the pasture A halter and carrots in her hand. She walks along the stony path And yells out loud instead-- That gosh-darned woman has the audacity To only call me Red!! |
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