My First Horseback Ride by Herbert Leviton ©3/24/1945, 2018
My gentle-spoken Southern friend Decided not to walk, And found a spotted German horse He said would never balk. I didn't have the urge to ride, But I confess no fear, Just a tiny tingling twinge In what they call my rear. But then again, I am a man, At least I'd have to try. But I didn't like the look I saw Within that horse's eye. I approached him softly from the left. He only turned his head And grinned and showed his yellow teeth, But not a word he said. My foot was on the stirrup bar. I flung my body high And when I landed, soon I saw The saddle pass my eye. We tried again and did it right. I'd reached the very top. But then he started all alone. How do you make him stop? I shouted, "Whoa!" and kicked him hard, Right in his tender side. He broke into a gallop then. Those Gates were open wide. At last he stopped his galloping And ambled sure and slow. Ah! This is fun to ride, at last. Like this, I love to go. But something still was not just right. At teamwork he did frown, For he was always going up While I was coming down. And when I started up at last, And thought he'd do the same, I found that he was going down. Now, how can I explain? And so my bottom's good and sore: My first ride and my last! And thankful tho' I'm still alive And that all danger's past. Postscript If you should chance a horse to see, You'll never find me with him Until I found the one for me, With my erratic rhythm.	The poet in Italy, 1944
The poet wrote over 400 pages of letters home from Europe during World War II, most of them in poem form. This poem may well describe his only experience riding a horse
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