The Old Dark Mare

Today comes the hope that all
will be forgotten. I spent it
thinking of you after a dream
of how I left you while you
did nothing to stop me.

Two bowls of milk, one full
the other hardly filled. Hunger
is incentive for the prowler who
will not steal gifts, instead
reluctantly wanders away.

Today the gates have opened.
The old dark mare lifts her head
with youthful motion, not confident
of where to go, how to get there
but sure she will not stay.


Anonymous said...

Madame, I like the way you use the old image of the mare, and contrast with the feelings you invoke, your vehicule as they used to say, your troping this old imgae into something more new... bonne travaille Madame Phillips....forgiving my english....

Lewis LaCook said...

A quiet, unassuming poem that jumps on you and bites your head off...quietly...