April 16: Cinnamon and Me

Cinnamon and Me
         2025 by Tom King

A pretty brown sorrel mare, spirited,
A little skittish at first, but soon she came to trust me.
There were trail rides Cinnamon and I led,
Eighteen kids on 18 ponies, bays, and buckskins, roans and grays
Tagging along behind us through the dappled woods.

At first, the trails were narrow and few,
But it wasn't enough for children or their feisty mounts.
So, we cut new trails among the trees, Cinnamon and I
She, fearless, pushing between the branches, me swinging a machete,
Around her ears, chopping away the foliage, widening the trail. 

She trusted me not to cut her, tolerated me wielding a sword,
She, calm like a war horse, trained to having blades swinging overhead,
Behind us, 18 ponies beat aside the leaves and left behind 
A new trail in the sandy forest floor beneath for our troop to explore,
A path for more adventures to be imagined for my young cavalry.

I passed my horses and my young troopers on when I was called
To new responsibilities. Others took my place and rode my Cinnamon.
I have to believe that in a new world, beyond this one. 
There, we won't have to leave the ones we love behind, whether human,
Dogs or horses or any soul whose trust we worked so hard to gain.

I can close my eyes dreaming Cinnamon and I take long canters,
In the woodlands of an Earth made new and green.
There's even my old dog Daisy romping along beside, sniffing the air;
Taking in the smells of an undying world. Cinnamon's nostrils flare,
And the three of us drink in the scent of Creation as it should be.