Flicka
We are two gypsies.I lay my head on her neck to caress her.I hear the sweet music of our ride.She points her ears toward my words of praise.
We fly on secret trailsthrough woods and brook,among the weeds as high as us.
I’m urged to stand in the stirrups to wave at the next tree.
I love her sudden bursts of speedleaving my breath along the path behind.
The stable hands say we ride too fast.But, they don’t know how fast we fly inside our hearts.