Like angry armies that never cease
Rider comes atop her crest
The sand greets her beating breast
Still she lies, under the moon
Till whispers she, like a typhoon
Water retreats and calms, placid now
But night is still and makes no sound
Now, a horse! a steed so strong
Breaks the quiet with gallup song
Circles once the passive maid
And neighs to wake the dawn of day
As Rider rises, the sun does too
For beauty envokes a faith in suit
No stirrup needs she, for with solemn grace
Rider mounts the beauteous bay
Erect she sits, bare of dress
And golden locks doth she possess
Cascading over shoulders sleek
To hands that grasp the mane with ease
Rider surveys both fields and brine
Looks to the sun but does not go blind
She stares into that rising hue
With eyes the sea doth envy blue
Miles away, a church bell rings
Awakening those with feet or wings
The bay needs no heel nor hand
He canters lightly down the sand
No being views this morning sport
No artist paints it on his board
But if one could on this perfect day
It would put all others to such a shame
After some small length of time
(No clock could turn were it to spy
This Rider dancing in the dawn)
The damsel bursts into a song:
"No angry word will catch mine ear
Nor cruel face to me appear
For I am Kindness, I am Love
I am all that beauty's made of"
But as this tune floats on the wind
An echo's harmony doth portend
Another being somewhere near
And Rider looks to sides and rear
Along the fields, a lone man stalks
Out for an early morning walk
He too sings, a tune quite soft
His hat is low, his features rough
Horse and Rider, both do freeze
Like a hare, when it a predator sees
But the man treads on, unaware
Of the proximity of the goddess there
Satisfied they were not seen
Rider turns now towards the sea
Suddenly the man, by luck or chance
Sets his eyes upon the sands
A flash of light! A golden mane!
But the mirage is swallowed by the waves
Neither breath nor thought come to the man
His eyes tell things he can't understand
But now the sun resumes its course
And water wipes the tracks of horse
So when the man combs o'er the beach
He finds naught of Rider or her beast
He saw perfection, for just one glimpse
But that's all that life will ever give
Beauty's evanescent, leaving a sensation
That it was just a hallucination