An ordinary sort of horse
stood in the paddock
one morning.
A blanketed bay -
not in his first youth,
nor his last.
Coat shabby,
head erect,
feet soggy in the winter mud.
There was nothing special about him,
but the stillness
he carried with inconspicuous grace.
Alison Cassidy
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-horse-7/
