He 13 months of love and joy,
All my things became his toys,
Socks, belts and underwear too,
All these things he'd bring for you.

My wife, myself, and our boy Tone,
Through the woods us three would roam,
His leash in mouth, no help from us,
He'd walk himself without a fuss.

He loved us more than can be told,
I always thought that he'd grow old,
I didn't know life could be so cold,
I always thought that he'd grow old.

Grateful for our years of fun
We found our second furry one,
A Maltese pal for our first boy
With her he could share his toys.

She'd curl up in his arms so warm,
Little Brit, she felt no harm,
Would come to her, her Coppertone,
Her knight, his golden armor shone.

'Twas not long before we saw,
The hideous bump, his leg was raw,
If he knew the end was near,
He never showed at all his fear.

To the end he loved us all,
We'd still go out and play rock ball,
And medically we tried to stall
The end for our gold love ball.

In his eyes he was not sad.
His going home, he knew not bad.
If he could speak, he would have said,
"Be not sad, we'll meet again."

"The four of us and your new friends,
We 'II all meet up on Golden Ridge,
Just a stone's throw from the Rainbow Bridge"

I'm glad these things that l've now told.
But I always thought that he'd grow old.
I always thought that he'd grow old,

By John Arthur Newman

He from Nebraska.
She knew right away.
Endless looking at horses.
Found the right one this day.

He danced for her.
His natural movement.
He danced for her.
Was an Equine Ballet.

Trailered him home.
Found what little he knew.
Could run to the left,
at speeds of mach two.

She trained him each day.
She flew through the air.
He didn't like learning,
and he didn't fight fear.

But finally came breakthroughs.
He started to pin.
Now going to shows,
he started to win.

He would dance.
His Equine Ballet.
He would dance.

There was some talk,
of him going Grand Prix
Was a race against time.
Yet it wasn't to be.

The years started flying.
He went up quite fast.
He getting older.
His prime might get past.

But he danced.
Float cross the ring.
And he danced.

The only horse on Earth,
I considered my friend.
We'd play our rough games.
Knock me on my rear end.

My wife never knew
I had taught him this thing.
Dressed in whites at a show,
he knocked her down near the ring.

She rose up and cursed me.
Whites covered in mud.
She yelled "What'd you teach him?"
Thought she'd draw blood.

Still he danced.
His Equine Ballet.
He could dance.

We spent twelve good years.
Our dogs loved him too.
He nuzzled them gently.
Love for them was true.

Always a good guy.
He sure loved my wife.
She'd always made sure.
That he had a great life.

And one day she found him.
Something drastically wrong.
He tried to stand up.
He no longer strong.

He passed away,
from this sudden illness.
In the barn it quite eerie.
He not there, the stillness.

He's somewhere better,
as he waits for she.
Someday back together.
He loved her you see.

As he waits, he'll dance.
In some other place,
He'll just dance.
His Tyler Ballet
and he'll dance.

We lost out Tyler on October 19th 2001. He was one of our family. he will be greatly missed. This poem is for my wife whom I love. God bless her.

John A. Newman