The Horse


I cannot see
The Sun
As a chariot -  
Even if she was
Sheathed in gold -
For she would not be pulled
By anything.
No, she must be the horse itself -
Her hair of flame
Rippling with her power
That we could only follow,
Being the passengers.

 


Copyright LJ 2021.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Lioness, outside The Garden

Fierce in the sky

The Sea (Mary Queen of Scots)