Fistfuls of snow

In the Himalayas there is rain and sleet
And men hanging by the edges at sun.

Women’s grass heads reach the ridges
From earth up ,starting at gum boots.

Horses hear master out in muddy hills
Their hoofs manage a delicate balance

Between slush below and the masters
Who urge them on in cries and abuses.

Horses say no tongue but they do nod,
Hurt if master says their mothers were

Not chaste and dads had loose morals.
They protest by instant poop droppings.

Horses have men on them ,on behinds.
They take them to upper snow reaches

So they hurl fistfuls of snow at  another
To take pictures to show off to friends.

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