To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
TOUCHING WILD in amber tinted dawn on a rose painted desert plain he looks at me chestnut coat reflecting the rising sun neck arched ears nervously pivoting one white socked forleg poised as if to run yet he stands as if he can hear the endearments I whisper from hundreds of feet away I raise my camera he does not flee but rather poses as if knowing he were the poster boy of a dying breed for this glympse of this horse of the wild I have been Blessed |
Sorry, there are no critiques for this poem in our system... If the poem is older, the critiques have been purged!