morning and the mythical

Morning and the Mythical.


On the hazy field a white stallion, with steam
rising from its back, was grazing and I thought
of the lady who used to ride naked through
the night. The horse seeing me cycling slowly
on the village sandy lane came to the fence
neighed softly and looked endearing.

I stopped spoke to it till it began grazing, but
when I tried to leave it neighed again didn’t
want to be alone. A man was letting sheep, on
to the field, eighty-five damp wooly backs,
(counted them and nearly fell asleep,) I could
leave now my presence was no longer needed.