Near red chestnut sheen of a sweating horse.
His boy's legs hang like saddlebags on his heaving sides.
He's not thinking about riding.
His head is cocked to nursery thoughts of tart and custard.
His father put him there.
In the frostbitten stable
It's a test run.
Fitting the horse to size.
No saddle or stirrups.
Just a boy with smartly parted hair on a horse.
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