Gift Horse (#13 Na/GloPoWriMo prompt)


He’s yours.
Four white socks,
And a Lowenbrau Lion blaze
Dividing mischievous brown eyes.

On lazy Saturday mornings full of
Sun, fresh water, muck forks,
He hangs his head over the fence,
Tongue offered: “You pull.”

Turns out you can look a gift horse in the mouth…

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