Woods Country Cove

Thursday, October 7, 2010


Somewhere…somewhere in time’s own space,

There must be some sweet pastured place

Where creeks sing on and trees grow,

A place where forgotten horses can go.



The prairie blows the grasses
And whips the horse’s mane.
They travel, horse and rider,
Through the sea of amber grain
Hills roll by, and clouds pass
But steady are the horse’s hooves
Upon the wind blown grass
As they travel, horse and rider
There is no trail that they follow
No path that can be seen
There they travel, horse and rider
Upon the endless blowing green


Your horse loves you; not for your looks, but for your love!

He knows when you're happy

He knows when you're comfortable

He knows when you're confident

And he ALWAYS knows when you have carrots