Quintessential Equine Spring

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

The foal sticks out his

Pink and brown snout to sniff at

Purple irises.

~ Issa [Englished by Phillip Whidden]

The cosmos brought together matches made

Of accident, not matches made by fate,

Or God, or Buddha, but the hard brown braid

On neck is dreamed and far too far sedate.

His prance and little neigh came, so he stopped

To smell the petals, hoping he could eat

Them.  Spring is like that.  It is always propped

Up by the eagerness of youth — what’s sweet

With hope in April.  He decides against

The fragrance of the flowers since they are not

For chomping.  Now he knows why they are fenced

Away from him.  He turns away to trot.

  He trots to other hopefulness a breeze

    Has brought him.  He lets out a happy sneeze.

© Phillip Whidden