And when she let the hooves loose, her back would straighten out completely
One straight line from nose to tail, she put her shoulders to the ground,
Drank the wind – at home at last in her own force.

Letting her fly, we called it. In those moments it was back to the order of things,
That this four-legged creature had grown wings was then not myth, but
Truth. Such self-born fortitude.

To save up power all days, full to the brim, only to release it now,
In one unreined, blissful moment – less than it takes the eye to blink. To think of
The patience afforded, unaffordable.

Not with the force within her! If only she knew her own strength it would have left her
Delirious with oxygen. A rush of blood pushing beyond the veins,
Throbbing back into some ancient homeland.

My mild-eyed warrior, my short-haired Samson. How we took away the one thing
Most admired, only to bestow upon you one of those iron discs to avert the evil eye,
To make you the messenger of our world-born wisdom.

Revised 9 November 2019

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