Short-Changed on Silver

I bought him thinking I’d been wise,
A steed as gray as mist-cloaked skies.
With boundless strength and loping stride,
To take me where my dreams reside.

His bristled coat and steadfast gait,
Echoed dreams of fathers, late.
I offered up my dear-won gold,
And Silver’s reins were mine to hold.

But as he brayed, the hearths awoke—
A donkey's cry, not pony’s, spoke.
And laughter spilled in tumbling waves,
From children’s play to farmers’ graves.

“That’s no horse!” they mocked with glee,
“More fit for mirth than chivalry.”
But I, in silence, held my pride,
Then kicked my feet, and took a ride.

He bore me through the thorns and mire,
Through biting rain and winds that tire.
Through brooks that burned with icy bite,
The paths that test your mounted might.

No trace of speed, no gallant form,
Just modest might through every storm.
A heart that strikes with solemn will,
Silver climbed where others stilled.

The jeers grew faint, the critics gone,
And in his bray, I heard this song—
A tune that rang, both tough and true,
As steady as the maidin dew.

For kings may ride on beasts of flames,
With polished helms and noble names.
But on my ass, I’ve found the worth
Of humble hooves and trodden earth.