Danny Pratt

[MuleRyder]

I wrote this a while ago about our “Uncle Danny” Daniel Pratt. For years Danny worked his two teams at Old Sturbridge Village. Some of you may have known him. I meant to give this short poem to my wife, but never did. I will share it with you now as this seems like a proper place.

His calloused hands pick up the reins, to earn another days dollar
The traces creak from the strain, as the horses lean into their collars
The smell of horse’s sweat and well oiled leather
He’s giving people rides in the hot summer weather
The fields have been cut, the barn is full of hay
But the stalls are empty, something’s missing today
Harness hangs covered with dust, the brass shines no more
well worn bits covered with rust, old shoes in a pile on the floor
The horses are gone and the teamster is too
Silent reminders of how much we miss you–RIP Uncle Danny

[Rod]

I Like it.

[Gabe Ayers]

Wow – That’s awesome MuleRyder, you could put a real name with that so we can share and be fair to you at the author – If you would allow your poem being shared? I liked it too.

Biological Woodsman
Jason Rutledge

[Author]

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