Little Horse That I Loved
Lightfoot ran as fast as the wind,
across the shoals.
He treated me like his best friend;
we won the poles,
conquered the barrels and goat-ties.
he galloped beneath summer skies
to please the crowd.
Ten-years-old, my gelding of white
raced in the fields.
Happy and free, both day and night,
he kicked up his heels.
We found him, but oh how sad
to watch him die.
The best horse a kid ever had!
With tears, I said good-bye
© Freeda Baker Nichols