The Yard

Our Poem

THE YARD
The only sound was rustling straw,
The clock struck six, it was never more,
As George arrived whistling a tune,
The lads would follow very soon.

Exquisite head over every door,
As one by one they began to paw.
On folded sacks lads brought their feed,
They were there to tend to their every need.

Each lad dreamed of that winning ride,
As they groomed and quartered each gleaming hide
The first string was ready as dawn slowly came,
How many of them were destined for fame?

The Guv'nor appeared, George gave a shout,
'Right lads lets have you. bring them all out.'
Into the yard, each precious as gold,
They mounted. then circled, what a sight to behold.

Out of the yard at a long striding walk,
To the cheerful banter of stable lad talk.
The lads left behind soon swept the yard.
The job they loved, but they worked very hard.

The travelling head lad sorted his tack.
For tomorrow three were off to the track.
They were all very busy when the first string returned,
Then time for a break and a coffee well earned.

The second string were soon on their way,
Two youngsters prancing, wanting to play.
Such power held in check by gentle hands,
As they worked out on heath or golden sands.

It's lunchtime, peace, the sun is high,
A breeze through the yard a gentle sigh.
A blackbird sings from the shade of a tree,
Sparrows, swallows, a bumble bee.

They search for grain, swoop on luckless flies.
Hum in the flowers that in the centre lies,
ln abundance of colour, pink, green and gold.
Of nasturtium, petunia, and asters of old.

It's 4 o'clock, evening stables have begun,
The pride they'll take is second to none.
As each lad now must do his two.
That pride makes a yard is very true.

They'll brush, wisp, wipe. each satin side.
'Over boy', What thoughts those proud eyes hide.
As meekly muscle and power move across.
Rings rattle, ropes pull. line heads gently toss.

Then it's time for the Guv. and George on their round
Bustle and scurry. then scarcely a sound.
As into each box with appraising eye.
They Um and they Ah. have a joke with young Di.

But a look of thunder as with hunky snow white
He wipes it down quarters all dusty and tight.
'What's this then Harry. no strapping" he cries.
'He's rather small'. says George. 'Though he tries'.

Now in straw so deep. They're all fed and done.
Rugged and warm. deep content in each one.
Just the sound of munching hay.
Dusk closing in at the end of the day.



Verse by Mary Lascelles

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