Chimerical Grandstand

On one misty winter’s morning

A work rider rode out alone

On The Gliding Mount, like a king

Who struts and trots upon his throne.

Snowdrops began to blossom in

The frost, but all else was barren

As they strode past an empty inn

Down to a beach where grey herons

Fed their young ones in a small flock,

Whilst night surfers made their way home

As savage waves crashed against rocks

And smeared the surface with their foam.

The two galloped as barely a

Hoofprint was made in the firm sand,

Along the whole stretch of the bay

Past an chimerical grandstand.

In a cave the horses entered

One by one round the parade ring,

Until they all reached the centre

And drank from the fresh water spring.

Punters mingled out on the dunes

Where the bookies set up their stalls

And young ones strolled holding balloons

Walking along the dikes and walls.

The whip struck like a magic wand

With gentle, rapid vibrations,

The Gliding Mount’s legs chimed in tune

And danced lightly to the loud cheer.

The work rider loosened his reins

And quickly opened up a lead,

A phantom field gave chase in vain

To cling to their high cruising speed.

Soon the sea calmed and the wind died,

The punters vanished in the fog,

Drowned out until only a faint

Echo of hoof prints could be heard.

On the same misty path they rode,

One yawned as steam rose from his back,

Wondering when his time would come,

The other, unchanged and measured,

Knew not of what his partner saw.

© 2017 AGP

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