On My Daughter Learning to Ride

She can barely walk,
but she must learn to ride,
she says.

Still stumbles
when she runs,
but astride the pony
she’s a different creature;
this winged, sunshine child
who squeals with delight.

‘Look at me, Mum! I’m cantering.’
Asks, ‘When can I gallop?’

Tiny thighs squeeze its girth,
the same way she’d hugged
my knees, when I’d jog her
up and down, and sing,

‘This is the way the ladies ride...
trit-trot, trit-trot, trit-trot...’
And still I hear her giggles.

Holds tight to the reins
and I hold my breath...put
my trust in her young teacher –
her life in his hands as,

‘Again,’ she squeals, then
calmly commands, ‘Walk on,’
as if doing it for years.

And so they toss their manes....
her velvet jodhpurs, the pony’s
soft pelt...their sweet, clover breath,
and a host of delicious things.