The morning mist lies over the ground Thin and soft as an old cotton blanket Steel-shod hooves move delicately Puffs of dust rising with each step
A blue heron rises from the mist Wings lifting like the sound of a gospel choir Startled, hands grasp leather reins Maintaining control
Years pass We rise, we fall We fall, we rise
The stirrup becomes harder to reach
One day we fall and rise no more We lie in the dust, broken Until a soft grass blanket covers us And we sleep Dreaming Of morning mist, steel-shod hooves and herons We are still cowgirls