by Ethel Mortenson Davis

When I was young
I yearned for a pony,
a brown, bushy-maned,
fast-stepping pony:

One that I could let
have his head
and taste what freedom
really was.

When I was older,
I told everyone
I was going to marry
a man from the West
that owned a horse ranch.

Now I’m getting too old
to ride horses,
but can watch herds
of wild horses
in the West —

if they can keep
from getting caught
and made slaves out of;
they are the freest
of all horses,

like birds
who are the freest
of us all.


Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry

6 responses to “Freedom

  1. Eloquent poem, Ethel… I fear someday there’ll be no more horses running free. And as a metaphor I fear for all of us. May the birds forever elude such captivity.

  2. You know, Ethel, Betty Hayes Albright is spot on. This is an eloquent poem – and beautifully handled.

  3. Perhaps it is that we come nearest to freedom is in the realm of our dreams, however much they change as the years go by.

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