Breakfast with My Horse

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"Breakfast with my Horse"

copyright@2001, Michael S. Robinson

When purple shadows fall to dawn's carnation avalanche,

and mornin' breezes rustle every shim'ring aspen branch,

when endless silver ribbons stream along the river's course,

I welcome in the mornin', havin' breakfast with my horse.

He whinnies when he sees me and he gives his head a shake...

then, nuzzles me and hounds me 'til I toss a leafy flake.

There's lots of gruelin' work ahead, a c1imbin' rise and ridge--

no camp cook out there waitin' with a camp stove and a fridge.

I've tried the best, ate prime of rib, and munched on rich hors douvres,

served up by dainty waitresses with dimpled cheeks and curves.

I've sampled the exotic taste of lox and escargot,

and had those crab-stuffed pork chops by a candle's gentle glow.

But there's a special flavor that's a must to any meal:

Sporadic ash and windblown grit give food a taste that's real.

It takes me back to basics and reminds me of my source,

to start each blessed mornin', havin' breakfast with my horse.