I loved a horse. I forget his name.
He studied me frankly from under his mane.
His nostrils flared like living holes,
Two beautiful spheres and swelling above
The living hole of each of his eyes.
After he had run he would sweat so.
That is, he was shining and I pressed
Moons to his flanks beneath my child knees.
I loved a horse. I forget his name.
And often (for a beast knows better
What strength must bring us praise)
He raised a brazen head to his Gods,
Blowing, and furrowed with a network of veins.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i pressed my moon against a window once; the neighbors complained! give me Mr. Ed anytime! bri :)
Well, what a load of spoilsports! Was it your rear window?