The three good mares

The front yard housed the three good mares,
Neighing, prancing and frolicking there,
Bestowed with warmth, love and care,
They lived free, the three good mares.

The three good mares, she looked upon,
And as months rolled, and pansies sprung,
To keep them strong, healthy and young,
She served them, and spotted returning affection in all.

The first one from the south did come,
A battered but playful soul,
She knew of the horse from once before,
A forgotten song, forgiveness and more.

The other one, had grown with her to this day,
Helping her through, always being there,
She hugged the lovely animal, the color of clay,
Relishing the warmth in her one true friend.

The last was new to the shed,
But sincere, still, all the same,
So much rapturous strength,
And a lingering earnestness.

But then she feared, that they would ask,
To choose one over the other,
But then she silently prayed in her head,
That no matter what, there’d be no change.

For the front yard was a happy place,
Where all she respected and all she loved,
Stayed intact, and then preserved,
But that day, she finally chanced upon.

One hinted, one asked and the other didn’t say,
All trying to go the very same way,
But alas, it was so unfortunate,
That they had to carve their paths as separate.

What would she speak, what could she tell?
Whom did she value, above all else?
All were spirits, so delicate, all lovable,
All justifiably true to her, all more than friends.

How could she lie, how could she say,
That for each one of them, she didn’t care,
How could she be selfish, how could she play?
With their emotions, and turn some away?

And so, she didn’t know where to go,
Which path to tread, or how this would end,
Because the truth was this, there was one she loved,
Above all others, and repeatedly told, so much.

That didn’t mean this, I’ll say,
That for others she held no affection, she could swear,
By the heavens, and tell you today,
They mattered the world to her, the other mares.

But they turned upon each other and she witnessed,
Bloody battles, and with much distress,
They blamed her then, once again,
For when they turned selfish in love, they didn’t understand her hurt.

One blamed her of ignorance,
And the other of tyranny,
A little bit of distrust, unrealistic,
But she was no devil, not many secrets did she keep.

To all heads held high, imperial,
She bowed meek, with anguish, pure,
Weedy grew the front-yard,
She walked away.

The mares she cherished stood tall,
Bold, wonderful, magnificent,
If there was any truth to love, she thought,
That one would then turn back.

She wished to see who would follow,
As she trotted a reedy road,
But her wishes, she slowly swallowed,
Hobbling, burdened with her own load.

By twilight, she found her weeping willow,
A favorite from childhood, waiting for her there,
And in his branches, she was mortal no more,
Not knowing if a single mare had realized and followed….