So my daughter wrote a very operatic new song about a herd of Appaloosas.
In Trinidad.
Whose favorite meal was lamb.
And it’s told from the perspective of a little lamb.

Hunh.

“The weird part of the song, Mama,” she explained to me, “is that horses are vegetarian.”

Right. 

I don’t even know where to begin deconstructing this baby.

I kind of thought I should give you a run at the lyrics, but I’ll bet you get the idea.
So instead, a couple of poems about horses and lambs:

Spring Song, Meirionydd
— John Dressel

I love that phrase, drunk with lambs. Don’t you?
It’s so lush and surprising.
I’m gonna figure out a way to slide that into my conversation this weekend, to be sure…

No. 6
–Charles Bukowski

I’ll settle for the 6 horse
on a rainy afternoon
a paper cup of coffee
in my hand
a little way to go,
the wind twirling out
small wrens from 
the upper grandstand roof,
the jocks coming out
for a middle race
silent
and the easy rain making
everything
at once
almost alike,
the horses at peace with
each other
before the drunken war
and I am under the grandstand
feeling for
cigarettes
settling for coffee,
then the horses walk by
taking their little men
away —
it is funeral and graceful
and glad
like the opening
of flowers.

Sometimes I’m stunned at what a poet’s allowed to do, 
the language and images he or she’s allowed to put together — slap, bang — 
all in one little poem. 
The oddest things, made to seem inevitable.
Cigarette and flowers, horses and lambs…