The Horses Come In, The Horses Go Out

A Wrangler's View

THE HORSES COME IN, THE HORSES GO OUT

The horses come in, the horses go out.
The morning beams, the blossoms sprout.
Along the fence the wrangler walks
between the barrels, hooves and hocks.
And the horses come in, the horses go out
to face the trail and another bout
amongst the gum and black boy, stout
where shadows loaf, and the summer air
sweeps through the scrub to the paddock where
the horses come in, the horses go out
'til the land succumbs to evening's clout
and the moon begins its swarthy route.
The wrangler pauses at day's end
knowing full well tomorrow, again,
the horses come in, the horses go out--