into a pastoral setting next to the river -
a field, two storks pecking for their lunch; and
a white horse assiduously grazing on
a mostly barren patch of land dry and inglorious
The horse himself bears a glorious mane and swell body.
I near in my hippie frenzy,
and reach out anxiously
The caress on his soft fur, the bristles of his mane,
those emotive eyes seem to convey a strange, sedate expression.
He isn't scared of me,
for once the equines have see me in acceptance,
I feel elevated up the Maslow's hierarchy, towards self-actualization.
Snuggling up to me, bowing subserviently...
Have I, today, tamed the beast with a single touch?
I make a larger and confident motion across its glorious fur,
now that it has turned and faces me sideways.
Its movement, however, doesn't cease
and on his axis he keeps on turning till the hind now faces me.
The little girl remarks on his cantankerous disposition
before I realise what is to come.
And I leap and twist
as it leaps in a graceless motion himself.
The two hooves well versed in this technique
manage to catch only vacuum this time,
but in a parallel universe I am very much in pain.
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