Dressage Blows: A poem by Wylie, age 13

Even as a snot-nosed kid I understood the basic concept around which every foxhunter’s life revolves: The great outdoors are great; the ring, not so much.

DRESSAGE BLOWS

I entered at “A”
determined, per say
to perfect my shoulder-in
but my horse, he pranced
and my mind, it danced
but the fences held us in.

Such a beautiful day
I could gallop away
such a longing to be free.
My instructor would scold
To practice, I was told
though incessant it may be.

My canter at “C”
was extended by “E”
my patience could not wait.
On a day so fine
I haven’t the time
We simply jumped the gate!

We jumped anything we came to
like the wind, together we flew
so happy I could sing.
No worries about collection
I’m not looking for perfection
I left my troubles in the ring.

Photo: The Wylie sisters at opening hunt, somewhere in the early- to mid-’90s