Two horses by the gate, cross-necked,
One earthen brown the other creme,
Stand watching withered leaves sun-wrecked
On branches nearing winterlean;
Two horses lit by morning lamp,
One younger by four years or so,
Still, listening in late summer’s damp
For what the elder knows will grow;
Two horses in the green, streamed field,
Dim round breathe mist the night begot,
As quick cold minds the sun’s slow yield,
And with the yield it’s strength forgot.
Two horses soon to find their stall
Stand watch in onrush of the fall.