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.