Stallion

The stallion getting old
Feels the cold,
But When he runs with the mares
His cares
Seem far away.

He doth play
At romance
But cannot prance
As once was the case.
Another pretty face
Becomes as one
With lovers long since gone.

There are always mares
With which to pair,
To keep him warm
As the dawn grey
Slinks over the horizon
Ushering in yet another day.