Pete was a wooden rocking horse
Carved of strong and sturdy pine.
His mane was made of purple yarn,
His tail of violet twine.
Back and forth and forth and back,
He rocked and rocked some more.
But Pete the Rocking Horse felt sad
Because he could never leave the floor.
The children always talked of fields,
Blue mountains and bluer streams.
Pete had never seen such things
But for glimpses in his dreams.
From his place beside the window,
In the third room on the right,
Pete could smell the great wide world
And catch beams of the morning light.
In the yard charged a racing mare
And in the hills a stallion.
Down in the stables far below
Stood a soldier’s steed, so valiant.
All the mustangs neighed and brayed.
Riders stroked their thoroughbreds.
Clydsdales galloped to and fro.
But poor Pete couldn’t even move his head.
He tried to rock right off his base
So he could run away, toward his fantasy.
“If only I can run free,” he said,
“I can race, pull heavy loads, or join the cavalry.”
With all his might, Pete leaned ahead
And with growing speed leaned back.
Picking up momentum
He thought he might have heard a crack.
Faster, faster, faster now.
Pete’s rocking trot became a gallop.
His twiny tail was swinging high
And he nearly lost his saddle.
Surely now he would break free
And leap down to join the other horses.
He could nearly feel the breeze, the grass.
He saw himself sprinting down race courses.
Just when Pete thought he might be loose,
As he rocked so hard, so fast, so high,
He lost control and spun off balance
And fell onto his side.
“I guess I’ll never be a real horse,”
Pete said amid his gloom.
“How can I get into the pasture
If I can’t even leave this room?”
Pete would have cried tears of splintered wood,
Laying there, helpless on the floor.
That’s just when a tiny voice squeaked,
“What are you falling for?”
From sideways on the carpet,
Pete looked up, down, everywhere.
“It’s me,” came the voice. “I can help you, Pete,”
Said a pink stuffed Teddy bear.
“You are a special rocking horse.”
“I don’t feel special,” dear Pete cried.
“How good that it’s not up to you!
You’re special and it cannot be denied.”
“I used to feel the same as you,
Like a funny, flimsy bear.
But now I know I am beloved
By the children in our care.”
“Pete, you want to run with colts and mares
Like I wanted to griz and roam and roar.
But then I found I’m just as real and rare
And really so much more.”
“You are just as much a horse
As any bronco, steed, or pony.
You just happen to be a rocking horse.
To be something else would just make you phony.”
“Be you. Be Pete the Rocking Horse.
That’s how you’ll be truly free.
You’re the only one in the world
Who can be who you were made to be.”
Pete smiled and wagged his twisty tail,
And said, “Perhaps you’re right.
None of the horses in the field or barn
Can rock like me–not quite.”
At just that moment the children came,
Brother and sister bouncing up the stairs.
“I want to ride the rocking horse,” said she.
He said, “I want to snuggle my Teddy bear.”
Concerned to see him lying there,
The children lifted Pete upright.
The little girl jumped on his back
And rocked and held him tight.
“Whee!” said she. “Ooh ahh!” said he.
For hours they played, and weren’t done yet.
Pete felt freer than he’d ever felt
As they rocked off into the sunset.
When at last night fell and the children tired,
Pete smiled and looked at Teddy.
Pete couldn’t wait to rock again tomorrow
Free to be himself, he’d never felt more ready.
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