The Dreaming Townswoman

Young and pale her dreaming face,
seeing through her sleeping hands
a fine running singing man,
firm legs over the southlands,
the thirst of sun in his cobalt eyes,
sowing god-seeds of silver
to reap moons of desires

- a singing man and his white mare,
free hooves timing a wild love tune,
great mane studded with firestones,
hurricane tail beating gaily

- a singing man and his white mare
and herself swung to the saddle
over the great mare's quarters:
he bringing her through the greenwood
to the hut by the leaning pine,
awake in his wide brown arms
- a wondering pagan flaxen wife
rich with the good sunlight...

Seeing the pavement sunlight
as a morning pasenger,
she removed black April gloves,
glancing sideways at a police horse
and was concerned why it disturbed her.

by Eric Ratcliffe

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