Orabelle

A seed was planted, safe away
and so began the bright bouquet.
From falling drops of sun and rain,
grew Drause's  flower ballet.

A dance along her chestnut hair,
of tiny blossoms oh so fair,
she would hand out here and there
beside her smiling stare.

In morning, noon, and damp blue eve,
in stable hay she'd play and read,
beside horse friends of every breed,