Spring

Mary Oliver, 1979

In April the Morgan was bred. I was chased away.
I heard the cries of the horses where I waited,
And the laughter of the men.

Later the farmer who owned the stallion
Found me and said, "She's done.
You tell your daddy he owes me fifty dollars."

I rode her home at her leisure
And let her, wherever she wanted,
Tear with her huge teeth, roughly,

Blades from the fields of spring.

← Back to Poems