Among the valleys and dusty moors,
lies hidden memories beneath the forest floor.
A tale so sad its never told,
a woman and horse, a match made in gold.
Every summer as the birds flew,
the horse would gallop through,
the mist and clouds to be with her,
a beautiful woman with a name of Fleur.
Fleur's love grew strong as the bond grew,
between woman and horse,
and a world that knew.
That one day this horse would see,
how much Fleur ment to thee.
Each passing day they rode along,
the passages that belonged,
to Fleur's dear father and he told,
that Fleur was never to ride alone.
But she was't alone she had the horse,
a beautiful being who knew its course.
He took her to the wonderful lands,
where she held out her steady hands.
She asked him where he came from,
was he magic, was he one
of those horses that only came once
and galloped off without a glance.
He didnt reply, just shook his mane
and carried Fleur back home again.
But something terrible was awaiting ahead,
but nothing bad came to the poor horses head.
The sky turned dark over the ragged moors,
and the storm took its course.
Raining hard on the poor valleys hills,
but carrying on better still.
They soon came to the old wooden bridge,
not realising it was a bad wreckage.
They crossed it non-the-less
and soon was in a terrible mess.
A plack collapsed beneath their feet
as birds sounded out a warning tweet.
Fleur jumped off of the horses back
and tugged hard on the now-soaked tack.
She pulled hard on her horses reigns,
but he wouldnt budge as the hoof remains
wedged between old fallen placks
there was no way of getting it back.
The horses eyes were full of sorrow
and discovered there was no tomorrow.
It said, 'this is my final day.
Leave me to die and in peace i lay.'
'I cant leave you', dear Fleur replied
'I wont let you stay here and die.
How dare you say your leaving me
without a friend, i cant leave you be.''
It was too late as the wood groaned,
and the poor old horses spirits moaned.
Fleur stopped dead in her tracks,
and cried out to the sky and back.
And now after all those years,
her eyes are still overwhelmed with tears.
And in a flicker of pure light,
comes something that will bring delight.
The familiar face of beauty so strong,
the horse that formed such a bond.
With beautiful Fleur, the lady in white,
and her dear old horse who lives in the light.
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Comments about this poem (Long-Lost Memories by Gabriella Hart )
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Walter de la Mare
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(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)