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Crackers Fourteen hands high, White with copper paint Black mane that grew To cover the eye that Only saw half the light. Fourteen hands high, As tall at her shoulder as I, Couldn't wait for a saddle Bounced bareback Stealing away at sunrise Through wet cornfields, Crossing tiny creeks, Hoofbeats synchronous With my pounding heart. With enough body to Counterbalance my will, She taught me patience The year I measured Fourteen hands high. By Deborah Ranchuk |
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