She Didn’t Ride

He was the colour

Of a good cappuccino,
Tall, very tall

And he had this sense,

A horse whisperer sense

About him,

Instantly likeable he was,

I immediately thought

About the lonely Goddess

I have the privilege of knowing,

A gorgeous woman alone

On that island of Ithaca,

But I remembered she didn’t ride,

Didn’t ride horses that is.

Stephen Nesbitt ©

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