GloPoWriMo – Song 23

Frogs, Fetlocks, Forelocks

Black frog,
like a tongue,
where each
step kisses
the earth

My weight
against her
withers, she
lifts her hoof,
so trusting,
to lay in hand
her foot.

My fingers
trace the black
frog, the gentle
spot, a heart
in a hoof.

My new pony
knows no fear
of me–

my fingers
twist in
forelock–

She has not
seen me in
battle, nor yet
in the hunt–

her muzzle
in my hair
and the
sweet breath

of burdock
and nirn root

of warm earth.

I leave her
tethered
by the camp site
when I
head to
battle, to
hunt.

My new pony
trusts me.

I want to
keep it that way.

Daily Prompt: “write a poem about an animal,” from Na/GloPoWriMo.

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NaPoWriMo 2019
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