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By John L. Swainston

PROMPT — ”During COVID-19 ...

Charlie was my horse

Stubborn as a mule

He always stopped to eat

No matter were he was

And would only move on when done

Charlie was my horse

An hours ride was two

His only gate was a slow walk,

has he would search for a spot to eat

Charlie was my horse

On the beach we would ride.

The sound of each hoof striking

the water sounded like the timpani.

Charlie was my horse

He had a mind of his own

When I'd saddle him and turn

to cinch it up, he'd nip my butt,

as to say hurry up.

I quickly learned a carrot in my back

pocket would save a bruise!

Charlie was my horse.

So when I die I hope we'll meet to 

ride again on that beach.

But now I wonder, do they allow horses

in heaven?

Well if they don't, let me say for sure,

I want to go where they go.

Charlie was my horse.


John L. Swainston is a 75-year-old Retired Accountant, Adjunct Professor, Army Veteran, and three-time Cancer Survivor. John lives in Gardner, KS.


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