Wild the Mare
John Clare Stokes
In Williston sand longing
to conceive in
A field of record yields
Beneath a September rising and falling over and again
The burrowing owl came
From below eyes wide open
To the commotion turning
Totally around as if looking back was acceptable while upon the hill in the stable
Kicking against the stall
The wild mares mane trembled from the rising and
The falling
Wanting so desperately to
Join the conception
Bringing record yields
In fields under cover of night
While in far away Kentucky
Came the one
They would call
Foolish Pleasure
Conceived amid owls and sandy legumes galore
To gain glory in a derby
Far from the wild mare
Kicking desperately.
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