This Life - Jan. 30, 2026

you know the old horse

in the barn with the

easy-to-reach oats in a bag,

comfortable bed of hay

refillable trough of fresh water

and a view from the stall

to the fenced acres it once ran,

sometimes bound with the wish

of escape, of freedom,

now content to chew hay or

wait for the sun to come ‘round,

lock joints for a standing snooze

or fold down for a deeper nap

and then there’s Gracie

on the sofa, who watches

me approach, leash in hand

lowers her head

closes her eyes