loving hands

in stride,
you gallop through
another year
through
all kinds of
weather,
with different
jockeys steering
you towards some
imaginary
finish line.
it's no longer
about winning,
the garland
of roses,
the trophy or
the accolades.
no, now it's more
about the oats
in the barn
that await you.
the hot sudsy
bath with a pair
of loving
hands
washing gently
behind your ears.