I can see, as I look beneath the glassy surface of her eyes,
Pallas knows what fate will soon befall her.
A now rare, recognition
Play's across the old mare's face.
And makes the vision laid before me,
All the harder to bear.
She nuzzles my cheek,
A maternal gesture,
To comfort and console.
For she knows it is her time to move on.

A beautiful thoroughbred,
Her life has been hard.
Past owners had beaten and starved her,
Of affection and food, into a living mirage.
Jumps she made unwisely,
Out of stubborn drive and pride,
Brought the whip upon her breast.

Then winter turned to spring,
And she knew home to be within my pastures.
The wounds healed by slow degrees.
(Some never heal at all.)
Though bit by bit, her strength was restored.

Summer came and found us sisters,
Daring the winds, and waters to race us.

As I watch her I'm filled with wonder,
'Should I take her out for one last run?'
I take her bridle off it's hook,
Upon the grayed barn wall.
She bucks and prays at the sight.
Telling me she is at peace, as I should be,
To let the seasons change once more.

So I surrender my internal fight,
To stay and brush her gently.
'Tis the least that I can do,
To comfort my dear old friend.