Vivid tritt Trott dreams turn to life

Holding,
the delicate curved rust,
reminiscing back to the years that have passed,

From the first time
it was nailed on a precious hoof,
that's when the fresh morning dew became a part of it.

It's misty purpetular black stones
are fresh dried up soil from a central coast farm
that has grown into age old,
orange brown vivid rust.

Hearing the vivid dreams of tritt trotting along the Australian soil
Makes me wish I was where I belong,
My farm,
With her,
Cinnamon.