No Such Day as Sunday


Our Poem

There s no such day as Sunday to laze around the fire,
There's no holiday at Christmas with Shetland or a Shire,
At Easter we're so busy with the sizes inbetween,
And every day there's feeding or keeping stables clean.
To lie-in in the morning is something just unheard,
And as for holidays abroad that's something quite absurd.
We could jet our way around the world if we didn't have the horses

'You horsey people are quite mad', I hear from many sources.
No lunch in town, followed by a shopping spree,
But cheese on toast, made in haste, is lunch for you and me.
But those who never rise at dawn to hear that friendly ne
Nor ride across the emerald turf upon a Summer day,
Will never share the joy on the day a foal is horn,
Nor experience the thrill of the First String out at dawn.
Our protÚgÚes we watch until the time of their first show,
Perhaps we are just slightly mad hut they will never know,
The smell of hay, a stable warm, a friend at rest and play,
Perchance to dream and fall in love with chestnut, black or bay.

Verse by Mary Lascelles

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