Learning to Ride
I learnt to ride in Mongolia one October
            on a nameless horse;
it hated me
for the whole one hundred and twenty
hard kilometres;
we had a fractious relationship.
Each morning it challenged me
with a steely glare,
watched me
eating breakfast, packing my tent,
            approaching it to mount.
It often tried to scrape me off
against the nearest tree.
On the third day we broke into a gallop
            surprising both of us,
I held on
Watching green hills blur
under a clear blue sky
It was an eventful journey.

George Fripley

If you have any comments on this poem, George Fripley  would be pleased to hear from you.