THE RUNAWAY
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nce when the snow of the year was beginning tofall,We stopped by a mountain pasture to say "Whosecolt?"A little Morgan had one forefoot on the wall,The other curled at his breast. He dipped his headAnd snorted at us. And then he had to bolt.We heard the miniature thunder where he fled,And we saw him, or thought we saw him, dim andgrey,Like a shadow against the curtain of falling flakes."I think the little fellow's afraid of the snow.He isn't winter-broken. It isn't playWith the little fellow at all. He's running away.I doubt if even his mother could tell him, 'Sakes,It's only weather.' He'd think she didn't know!Where is his mother? He can't be out alone."And now he comes again with a clatter of stoneAnd mounts the wall again with whited eyesAnd all his tail that isn't hair up straight.He shudders his coat as if to throw off flies."Whoever it is that leaves him out so late,When other creatures have gone to stall and bin,Ought to be told to come and take him in."
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