Jeg syntes lige at jeg ville dele et digt med jer.
Det er et der nemt bringer tårerne frem i mine øjne, og jeg syntes det er så utrolig smukt.
Det kom sig af en der hedder Chantal havde taget et billed af en gammel hoppe med hende føl.
Da det blev vist frem, var der en der hedder Michelle der havde skrevet et utroligt smukt digt, som hun syntes passede så godt til Chantal´s billed.
Digtet blev ikke skrevet til billedet, men passede så godt til billedet.
Billedet er det her:



Og her er det smukke digt....


The old mare stands with her head hanging down,
In the grey light that comes near the dawn,
Her mind is turned inward, suspended for now,
As she waits for her foal to be born.
She´s had foals before, she knows what to do,
As she settles herself on the ground,
A twitch of her tail, the faintest of groans,
A glance and a new babe she´s found.

She nuzzles the youngster with motherly pride,
Encourages him gently to rise,
While the foal gazes round in the sweet early light
With a world of delight in his eyes.
The old mare has seen that look often before,
She´s had many foals in her time,
And she knows that this one will be her last foal,
For she´s reaching the end of the line,

And the summers are short and the winters too long,
As she waits for the end of the cold,
She submits to the aching slow passage of life,
And longs for death´s balm for the old.
But now it is May and her last babe is born,
She is young once again in her soul,
She´s forgotten the winter with all its hard times
And she´s living her youth in her foal.

She thinks of the good times before age took its toll,
When the grasslands were endless and green,
And a young mare could gallop and play in the sun,
Where winter´s dark chill was a dream.
She thinks of the foals she has born through the years,
All grown now, they gallop and run,
Though once they were small like the one born today,
This new one, her last twilight son

This last foal, her finest, she calls to him now,
His velvety nose finds her side,
He´s little and helpless like all her new foals,
But the old mare feels nothing but pride.
His legs are too long, he´s no beauty she knows,
With large head and short curly mane,
Yet the old mare believes, as she looks down at him,
That he´s destined for fortune and fame,

And the funny damp creature that lies by her side
Will one day stand tall, proud and free,
With fine flowing mane and eyes filled with fire,
A mother could weep just to see.
But now she´s content just to watch him stand up,
Though his legs are so hard to control,
And she sighs with content as he takes his first drink,
While she dreams of the life of her foal.

Hvad syntes i om digtet???
Er der andre der har et smukt heste digt i vil dele med os???
Med venlig hilsen Karina.