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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