Lack of Seed Power

He drooped like a wilted flower
this bright bay stallion too weak
in his flesh to breed the mare
who stood dripping in her heat.
He walked around her, nosed her
and hung his head. My grandfather
said, ‘‘Too many trips to the well.’’
But I scorned the argument, I wanted
the stallion to rise on his hind feet,
grip the mare with forelegs and teeth,
and squeeze into her with strokes
of his muscled rump. I felt
shamed by his failure, this insult to
potency. Beyond the yard I ran to
a clover field where bobolinks
nested and the child in me asked
the future man, how many chances
have we missed, even for stars,
seeds we lack that might have grown
into marvels we never dreamed of?