Why do I like horses? I think I must be mad.
My mother wasn?t horsey- and neither was my dad.
But the madness hit me early- and hit me like a curse.
And I?ve never got much better. In fact, I?ve just got worse.
My stables are immaculate. My house is like a hovel.
Last year for my birthday- I got a brand-new shovel.
I hardly read a paper- but I know who?s sold their horse.
And I wouldn?t watch the news- unless Mr Ed was on, of course.
One eye?s always on the heavens- but washing waves in vain.
As I rush to get the horses in- in case it?s going to rain.
And though they?re wearing 15 rugs, the best that you can get,
I bring them in to keep them dry- while I get soaking wet.
I spend every pound I?ve got- on horsey stuff for sure.
I buy saddles, bridles, fancy rugs- and then I buy some more.
I should have had my hair cut- or bought that nice blue shirt,
At least it wouldn?t now look ripped and showing up the dirt.
I can?t make a bloody sponge cake- so I don?t even try.
But I can back up a car and trailer in the twinkling of an eye.
It?s jeans and joddy boots that I live in night and day.
And that smell of sweaty horses just doesn?t wash away.
Once every now and then I dress up for a ball,
With make-up and posh hairdo- and high-heel shoes and all.
I ache from long-forgotten falls. My knees have got no skin.
My toes have gone a funny shape from being squashed again.
But late at night, when all is still- and I?ve gone to give them hay,
I touch their velvet softness and my worries float away.
They give a gentle nicker and they nuzzle through my hair.
And I know where my heart is- more here than anywhere!
Author unknown
(Saw this on FB and thought you guys would like it x)