There’s a porcelain draught horse standing there on the table
It reminded my old Dad of a time when he was able
To straddle that broad back and they’d head for the stable
He’s riding him home once again
It was before tractors opened up all this land
When an honest hard day’s work was nearly all done by hand
And a man and his good horse would be in demand
Dad he remembers those days
His last horse they’d named Chubby, he stood 16 hands tall
Fitted out in his harness he’d be led from the stall
Spend their time ploughing orchids or rolling up hay
Ride home at the end of their day
But my only memories of what dad could see
Was a pile of old bones lying down by the creek
Half buried by rabbits, bleached white by the sun
Dad’s old mate Chubby’s working days were all done
Used for pulling up stumps and for pulling trees down
Or pulling that Buggy, take mum and dad to town
Take the kids off to school while they’ll graze through the day
Take them all safely home again
So Dad could well remember how life used to be
How the horse was such a part of the early family
They relied on each other, they loved one another
Right to the end of their time
But my only memories of what Dad could see
Was a pile of old bones lying down by the creek
Half buried by rabbits, bleached white by the sun
The last of the draught horses days were all done
Now this porcelain statue still stands on the table
Dear old Dad he has left us but now he is able
To be with his old horse heading back to the stable
He’s riding him home once again
They’re both riding home again
“Porcelain Draught Horse” – Words and Music Terry Bennetts © 2006
