Yeavering Belle by Robert Leach

Where snowmelt greened
The sprung meadow, sat
An orange hare,
Still, squat, peering
At me
By the black stone gatepost.

My moving
Met hers, zigzaggy across stretched land.
Stopped when I stopped,
Capered, stalled, till she was
A chestnut shade on the skyline –
Mischievous lookout keeping me
Pinned.
Then vanished
When I wasn’t looking.

But over the wall, four, six, a glamour –
Ears black-tipped, eyes
A-gape, yet laughing,
Jigged, cantered, spat, danced, who
When I set foot on the worn wood ladder stile,
Disappeared.

– Only
A couple of old horses,
And the mud-trod path.