Her Only Love Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

All night she'd waited
for the sound of hooves,
medieval cobblestone,
the smell of horses,
and those welcome squeaks.
He was her only love.

When morning woke
there was a solitary rider,
whipping his tired horse
and bleeding onto reins
his face was chalk and stern.

Draped right behind him,
tied to the saddle, there
in all his youthful beauty
he had come home, at last.
She took his hand to lead

him to the quarters, where,
with skill and urgency
the stablemaster cleaned
and bandaged all his wounds.
And when he woke again
he was the master, ruler of
the castle, she had asked him.

The horse had taken, overnight
a rapid turn toward demise,
all tender loving care did not
restore his strength, he died.
Was buried with his master
well past the moat that day.