It has been seven years since Dermot Morgan died. Can you believe it?
My lovely horse, running through the field
Where are you going, with your fetlocks blowing in the wind?
I want to shower you with sugar lumps, and ride you over fences
Polish your hooves every single day, and bring you to the horse dentist
My lovely horse, you’re a pony no more
Running around with a man on your back, like a train in the night…