Taffy
Posted: Mon Mar 19, 2012 4:27 pm
Sorry Maureen, been a bit busy.
Will have to track him down, probably in my hard drive archive.
Other than a few 'trail ride' horses, Taffy was the first family horse our boys rode.
The piece of rhyme tells the story -
Jim’s Jottings I. Ota. (c). Australiana. 11/97.
‘ TAFFY ‘
There came to Hartley Valley
a horse that could not dally,
he’d run and run, as that is all he knew.
Short and stocky is his stature
and his spirit we must capture
as he can only be ridden, by a few.
He came from o’er the mountain
and upon him we were countin’
allowing us to trail him far and wide.
But with the spirit in his being
we were very quickly seeing
it would take some time to get him on our side.
Tender care and different saddles
‘til your brain it fairly addles,
shoes and drenching, it just goes on and on.
Snaffle bits and other bridles,
sometimes up to you he sidles.
You begin to think - “Ah Ha”! I’ve nearly won.
Then he starts some fancy dancing
the corral is used for prancing
from the gate, then to the hitchin’ rail.
Slow him : soothe him : take command,
insist he works to your demand
or very soon -- you’ll be turning pale.
So we tried some fancy riding
and gave ourselves a hiding
attempting to create a working team.
Bending , stretching and some jumping
‘til it set our hearts a’thumping.
Now, let us try, for our extended dream.
Over hills and down the vales
neither horse nor rider quails,
two bodies - performing just as one.
Eyes are gleaming, hair is streaming
both horse and rider teaming,
perhaps right now - the race is almost won.
And now --- into the future
no more bandages or suture.
Gone and forgotten : back in the distant past.
Time races on eternal
will not slow down - it’s infernal.
Lifes just enjoyment, disappearing fast.
Make the most of this great pony
even though he may act ‘ phoney ‘.
Your companion, is seven times your zest.
If this continues replicating
perhaps yourself, you will be hating
even though you may have done your level best.
So you will ride and roam the trails
and then recount the many tales
of adventures that are stored in memory.
But the time must surely come
when he can no longer run
and finally : you lay him down
to
REST.
Rimeriter. (c).
revised-12/98.
NOTE - must transcribe it from WriteNow to word.doc
Will have to track him down, probably in my hard drive archive.
Other than a few 'trail ride' horses, Taffy was the first family horse our boys rode.
The piece of rhyme tells the story -
Jim’s Jottings I. Ota. (c). Australiana. 11/97.
‘ TAFFY ‘
There came to Hartley Valley
a horse that could not dally,
he’d run and run, as that is all he knew.
Short and stocky is his stature
and his spirit we must capture
as he can only be ridden, by a few.
He came from o’er the mountain
and upon him we were countin’
allowing us to trail him far and wide.
But with the spirit in his being
we were very quickly seeing
it would take some time to get him on our side.
Tender care and different saddles
‘til your brain it fairly addles,
shoes and drenching, it just goes on and on.
Snaffle bits and other bridles,
sometimes up to you he sidles.
You begin to think - “Ah Ha”! I’ve nearly won.
Then he starts some fancy dancing
the corral is used for prancing
from the gate, then to the hitchin’ rail.
Slow him : soothe him : take command,
insist he works to your demand
or very soon -- you’ll be turning pale.
So we tried some fancy riding
and gave ourselves a hiding
attempting to create a working team.
Bending , stretching and some jumping
‘til it set our hearts a’thumping.
Now, let us try, for our extended dream.
Over hills and down the vales
neither horse nor rider quails,
two bodies - performing just as one.
Eyes are gleaming, hair is streaming
both horse and rider teaming,
perhaps right now - the race is almost won.
And now --- into the future
no more bandages or suture.
Gone and forgotten : back in the distant past.
Time races on eternal
will not slow down - it’s infernal.
Lifes just enjoyment, disappearing fast.
Make the most of this great pony
even though he may act ‘ phoney ‘.
Your companion, is seven times your zest.
If this continues replicating
perhaps yourself, you will be hating
even though you may have done your level best.
So you will ride and roam the trails
and then recount the many tales
of adventures that are stored in memory.
But the time must surely come
when he can no longer run
and finally : you lay him down
to
REST.
Rimeriter. (c).
revised-12/98.
NOTE - must transcribe it from WriteNow to word.doc
