I can smell the new leather
of the reins and know
that it will hurt to hold them.

I covet the callouses on his hands.

He worked hard for them, as will I.
The already-forming blisters show me
just how far I have to go.

I worship the wrinkles on his brow.

I trace the tales in them
of the son he made a man,
and now the grandson.

I hope the hero knows how much I love him.