Fistfuls of snow

In the mountains there is rain and sleet
And men hanging by the edges at a sun.
Women’s grass heads reach the ridges
From earth up ,starting from gum boots.

Horses hear masters out in muddy hills
Their hoofs manage a delicate balance
Between slush below and the masters
Who urge them on in cries and abuses.

Horses speak no language but they nod,
Hurt if master says their mothers were
Not chaste and dads had loose morals.
They protest by instant poop droppings.

Horses have men on them ,on behinds.
They take them to snowy upper reaches
So they hurl fistfuls of snow at each other
To take pictures for showing off to friends.


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