Post by spiderwoman1 on Dec 27, 2011 23:02:40 GMT 1
Why do I like horses? I think I must be mad.
My mother wasn’t horsey - and neither was my dad.
But the madness hit me early - and hit me like a curse.
... And I’ve never got much better. In fact, I’ve just got worse.
... My stables are immaculate. My house is like a hovel.
Last year for my birthday - I got a brand-new shovel.
I hardly read a paper - but I know who’s sold their horse.
And I wouldn’t watch the news - unless Mr Ed was on, of course.
One eye’s always on the heavens - but washing waves in vain.
As I rush to get the horses in - in case it’s going to rain.
And though they’re wearing 15 rugs, the best that you can get,
I bring them in to keep them dry - while I get soaking wet.
I spend every pound I’ve got- on horsey stuff for sure.
I buy saddles, bridles, fancy rugs - and then I buy some more.
I should have had my hair cut - or bought that nice blue shirt,
At least it wouldn’t now look ripped and showing up the dirt.
I can’t make a bloody sponge cake- so I don’t even try.
But I can back up a car and trailer in the twinkling of an eye.
It’s jeans and joddy boots that I live in night and day.
And that smell of sweaty horses just doesn’t wash away.
Once every now and then I dress up for a ball,
With make-up and posh hairdo- and high-heel shoes and all.
I ache from long-forgotten falls. My knees have got no skin.
My toes have gone a funny shape from being squashed again.
But late at night, when all is still- and I’ve gone to give them hay,
I touch their velvet softness and my worries float away.
They give a gentle nicker and they nuzzle through my hair.
And I know where my heart is - more here than anywhere
My mother wasn’t horsey - and neither was my dad.
But the madness hit me early - and hit me like a curse.
... And I’ve never got much better. In fact, I’ve just got worse.
... My stables are immaculate. My house is like a hovel.
Last year for my birthday - I got a brand-new shovel.
I hardly read a paper - but I know who’s sold their horse.
And I wouldn’t watch the news - unless Mr Ed was on, of course.
One eye’s always on the heavens - but washing waves in vain.
As I rush to get the horses in - in case it’s going to rain.
And though they’re wearing 15 rugs, the best that you can get,
I bring them in to keep them dry - while I get soaking wet.
I spend every pound I’ve got- on horsey stuff for sure.
I buy saddles, bridles, fancy rugs - and then I buy some more.
I should have had my hair cut - or bought that nice blue shirt,
At least it wouldn’t now look ripped and showing up the dirt.
I can’t make a bloody sponge cake- so I don’t even try.
But I can back up a car and trailer in the twinkling of an eye.
It’s jeans and joddy boots that I live in night and day.
And that smell of sweaty horses just doesn’t wash away.
Once every now and then I dress up for a ball,
With make-up and posh hairdo- and high-heel shoes and all.
I ache from long-forgotten falls. My knees have got no skin.
My toes have gone a funny shape from being squashed again.
But late at night, when all is still- and I’ve gone to give them hay,
I touch their velvet softness and my worries float away.
They give a gentle nicker and they nuzzle through my hair.
And I know where my heart is - more here than anywhere
