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PRIVATE MOMENTS

No thing can match the wondrous worth
Of witnessing an equine birth.

Eleven months of biding time,
Beloved mare, just past her prime:
We watch her bloom and gently wait,
While grazing by the pasture gate.

Her form grows rounder by the day,
Will it be chestnut, bay or gray?
Her spirit quiets, as she grows;
We wonder if perhaps she knows.

As her maternity draws near,
We cannot help but interfere.
Into the night, we stand and spy.
How does she sense that we're nearby?

Eventually, the barn grows still,
And in the air, we feel a thrill.
A quiet scene then stirs my soul:
Our mare displays her newborn foal.

She nudges him to help him stand,
In this, their private holy land.
We hold our breath, as they proceed,
And mother helps her infant feed.

It baffles us to see the scene,
This pure escape from things obscene.
As nature educates the mare,
Instinctively she learns to care.

The dam and foal become acquainted;
We observe the scene untainted.
Tumbling, he comes to rest,
As mother keeps her watch, unstressed.

Someday he'll train for exercise,
But, for tonight, we realize
This moment captures all we know,
As Heaven visits us below.

No thing can match the wondrous worth
Of witnessing an equine birth.
Creation whispers; we can hear
The Maker ever drawing near.

Learn more about this author, Linda Ann Nickerson.
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