I pat the horses‘ heads as I walk by.
They‘re gentle beasts， and friendly； they don’t mind.
The gesture heartens me. I don‘t know why.
At first， they did not trust me； they were shy，
suspicious. Maybe I don‘t seem the kind
to pat a horse‘s head as I go by，
And maybe I am not. I can‘t deny
that might not seem a move I‘d be inclined
to make toward great dumb brutes， and I know why：
They‘re alien； they’re stubborn； they defy
their handlers. They‘re not safe to walk behind.
I pat the horses‘ heads as I walk by，
Then stop at one， and peer deep in his eye.
There‘s sense， I sense， yet not much I can find.
But still， that heartens me. I don‘t know why，
Except， a fellow creature‘s there that I
can stretch a hand to， ignorant and blind，
that makes me feel a bond as I walk by.
That gesture heartens me. I don‘t know why.