What I want to tell you (and it really doesn't matter
if you believe me or not) is: I had a welcome visitor.
She didn't say a word; words were never her thing.
Warm looks were her thing: warm breath and body.
She was even smoother, come back from the dead.
She ran, and I rode her; I didn't fear for my unborn.
I was sure of her feet and even moreso of her heart,
and I'd forgotten what it was to have so much faith.
I pity anyone who insists that animals haven't souls,
as he's obviously never known love like my girl's.
And--when he and I get to heaven--he'll be walking,
while I ride the streets of gold atop a chestnut mare.