Like Jason and his Argonauts
you made the passage
through that fearful place
of crashing rocks,
that gateway through which
no one goes without sacrifice.

The awesome roar of its proclamation
marks the hero's quest to make the world anew:
"I am the Door; No man cometh
before the gods except by me."
And we drew up before its thunder,
treading in wonder and dread;
but ancient Phineas had your ear,
that clever king who held so close
what we dearly longed to know,
and whispered his wise word--
send down a dove before you.

And the sea began to swell and roll
beneath the clashing rocks,
gnashing in their readiness
for the feathers of our sentry.
My hand reached out across the stars
as if to stay their parting,

for I knew by then how the gods will play,
how they chortled at their games,
in those last hours, as the gate heaved open,
On the lowering tide I felt you rising,
as ever you had when our fate drew near.
and then the rush of the sea swept you past the rocks,

leaving me here, no one without you in this world.

by Sara Warner

No filly ever held such promise.
She enveloped us with gladness, playfulness,
wonder and motion.
Her fortune was to come into the hands
of one so capable, dream-bound,
nurturing and prophetic.
The keen eye spied her and never let go.

Finny grew up and took us with her.
She taught us to attend, strive,
relax and enjoy.
Our fortune was to come into the hands
of one so capable, dream-bound,
nurturing and prophetic.
Her keen eye spied us and we'll never let go.

by Judy Johnson

We thought she'd live for many years.
Our beautiful, beautiful horse is gone.
She rarely spooked, and never feared
a predator that she could fight,
but colic took her in the night.
Our beautiful horse is gone

Her filly licked her clean and neighed.
Her beautiful, beautiful horse was gone.
She wanted her to rise, sashay
out to the grassy field and play.
Instead, watched over her all day.
Her beautiful horse was gone.

She's buried near a spreading oak.
Our beautiful, beautiful horse is gone.
Amid the rustle of its leaves
we sit and think and live and grieve.
It's hard to totally believe
our beautiful horse is gone.

My wife walks through the setting sun.
Her beautiful, beautiful horse is gone.
Remembering all the ribbons won
and fifteen years spent side by side;
recalling every single ride.
Her beautiful horse is gone.

From My Wife Is a Horse, by P. V. LeForge