Timberviews Miss Iowa doesn't think much of frozen horse poo. Photo by Lavonne Parks

An ode to frozen horse manure

Spring, Summer, Winter or Fall,

I never fail to heed their call.

 

Out to the barn I trudge in all weather,

Nothing prevents feeding and stall cleaning, nothing not ever!

 

Horses greet me with a neigh

As I fill their stalls with hay.

 

Content and quietly they continue to munch

As I tend to their stalls in the frozen months.

 

Yet frozen manure is hard to ignore,

It piles up quickly each night as I snore.

 

Removing frozen piles is challenging task,

But the stalls must be cleaned so in them horses can bask.

 

Kicking, beating and stabbing won’t do,

There’s not much that can out-wit a frozen pile of poo.

 

Some is removed but not all will abate,

And makes my sanity a subject of debate.

 

Falls and twisted ankles are often the result,

As the piles stick to the ground like a personal insult.

 

Despite best efforts, piles are left where they dwelt,

To live out the Winter and wait for Spring’s melt.

 

When Spring arrives it will gladly bring,

Unfrozen poo I can finally fling.

 

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