When I am old and not able to ride

I will still have horses

But I will sit under a tree

and watch them through my memory’s eye

We will canter and gallop and jump fallen logs

And no matter the state of my actual hair

It will dance and lap and snap my shoulders as we soar untamed and free.

When I am old and my hands are gnarled

I will still brush their coats

I will run my crimped fingers through their fine fur

And braid their silken manes and tails

I will stand in awe and admire their beauty as I hum a happy tune

And they will pay me no mind at all

Because they will have grown accustomed to my unsteady whir.

When I am old and set in my ways

And perhaps difficult to fathom

My horses will be at ease with me as we will be long acquainted

My hearing may diminish and my awareness wane

But no matter my abstract state

I will know my horses

as a picture on my soul they are painted.

When I am old I will not be alone

Because I will still have horses

We will talk and laugh and give the old tallyho

And busy ourselves with daily routine

I will visit them in the morning and stay for hours

And sneak out in the middle of the night

I will remember to thank them for their amity and to the stars we

 will be a familiar tableau.

Yes, when I am old and unable to ride

I will forgive my failing frame

the enervation, weal, and welts hold no remorse

As each have been earned with satisfaction

I will ignore my inadequacies for yet one more chance to dwell

At such a place where I find peace

And when I am too old I will simply smile, because I had horses.