Victorian Valor

 

Victorian beauty, a blushing bride

    gasps as her sweating stallion

    races with passion – his passenger

    pleads for mercy, laughs at the

    gallantry of nature and speed and

    freedom – surreptitiously enjoys.

 

O’ but her liberty wanes in the

    late day sun, and saddle and

    boots are put to rest.

Turns her eyes to the shadows and

    promises her return, and walks

    to the manor.  And sighs.

 

Opened parlor door reveals cigars

    and leather, as heads turn – she

    approaches with grace.  Pale powdered

    faces, ladies’ fans and brandy.  Upturned

    noses at the faint scent of animals.  Boring

    talk, idle laughter, most proper gossip.

    Hushed and reserved - a congregation.

    The air is of stale flowers, as

    dead as she feels.

 

But only moments ago, she flew on the

    wings of the stallion.  Given room to

    breathe – above clouds of dust stirred

    by the stallion’s run.  Her fan is

    folded and beating staccato.  Flirting?  No.

    But to the rhythm of hooves – her heart beats.

 

 

Copyright © October 2004 by Amy L. Allison

   

     

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