<\/a>My father sent me this poem, saying that was written about me.<\/p>\n

Then I put it on my Facebook page and countless people said that it could have been written about them.<\/p>\n

Of course there are some variations (I know how to make sponge cake), but the addiction to horses seems to afflict so many people around the world.<\/p>\n

Does this poem describe you?<\/p>\n

How many of you friends could this poem be about?<\/p>\n

Why do I like horses?
\nI reckon I must be mad.
\nMy mother wasn\u2019t horsey
\nAnd neither was my dad<\/p>\n

But this addiction hit me early
\nAnd it hit me like a curse
\nAnd I\u2019ve never gotten better
\nIn fact I\u2019ve gotten worse<\/p>\n

My stables are immaculate
\nMy house is like a hovel
\nLast year for my birthday
\nI got a brand new shovel<\/p>\n

I hardly read a paper
\nBut I know who\u2019s sold their horse
\nAnd I wouldn\u2019t watch the news
\nIf Mr. Ed was on, of course<\/p>\n

One eye\u2019s always on the heavens
\nBut the washing waves in vain
\nAs I rush to get the horses in
\nIn case it\u2019s going to rain<\/p>\n

And though they\u2019re wearing 15 rugs
\nThe best that you can get
\nI bring them in to keep them dry
\nWhile I get soaking wet<\/p>\n

I spend up every cent I\u2019ve got
\nOn horsey stuff for sure
\nI buy stable rugs and fancy rugs
\nAnd then I buy some more<\/p>\n

I should have had my hair cut
\nOr brought that nice blue shirt
\nAt least it wouldn\u2019t be now
\nBe ripped to shreds and in the dirt<\/p>\n

I can\u2019t make pie or sponge cake
\nI don\u2019t even try
\nBut I can back a car and trailer
\nIn the twinkling of an eye<\/p>\n

Its jeans and R.M. boots
\nThat I live in night and day
\nAnd that smell of sweaty horses
\nJust doesn\u2019t wash away<\/p>\n

Once in every, now and then
\nI can dress up for a ball
\nMake up and a hairdo
\nWith high heel shoes and all<\/p>\n

I ache from long forgotten falls
\nMy knees have got no skin
\nMy toes have gone a funny shape
\nFrom being squashed again<\/p>\n

But last at night, when all is still
\nAnd I\u2019ve gone to give them hay
\nI touch their velvet softness
\nAnd my worries float away<\/p>\n

They give a gently nicker
\nAnd they nuzzle through my hair
\nAnd I know it\u2019s where my heart is
\nMore than anywhere<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My father sent me this poem, saying that was written about me. Then I put it on my Facebook page and countless people said that it could have been written about them. Of course there are some variations (I know how to make sponge cake), but the addiction to horses seems to afflict so many […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1385,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[71,74],"tags":[147,81,148],"yoast_head":"\n