What if it were our privilege to sculpt our dreams of animals? But those shapes in the night come and go too quickly to be held in stone: but not to avoid these shapes as if dreams were only a nighttime pocket to be remembered and avoided. Who can say in the depths of his life and heart what beast most stopped life, the animals he watched, the animals he only touched in dreams? Even our hearts don't beat the way we want them to. What can we know in that waking, sleeping edge? We put down my daughter's old horse, old and arthritic, a home burial. By dawn with eye half-open, I said to myself, is he still running, is he still running around, under the ground? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE GRASSHOPPER; TO MY NOBLE FRIEND MR. CHARLES COTTON by RICHARD LOVELACE IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 1 by ALFRED TENNYSON IN EMULATION OF MR. COWLEYS POEM CALL'D THE MOTTO by MARY ASTELL A WEEK IN A BOY'S LIFE by JACQUES BOE A SWEET CONTENTION BETWEEN LOVE, HIS MISTRESS, AND BEAUTY by NICHOLAS BRETON |