It's a mental gathering
Of all my horses -
The pretty ones, the strong ones
The fast ones, the wild ones

The lame ones too
They bring something to the fight -
They have nothing more to lose

It's a mental gathering -
The stamina returning
To my drained veins in a surge

I won't be ridden.

Nearly tamed, nearly made
A lady -
Nearly turned suitably weak,
Vulnerable and dependent.

But I won't be ridden.

All my horses are gathering,
They each bring something to the fight.
A proper battle -
Calls for at least one of each.

Beauty, strength, momentum, rage -
And sorrow, sweet sorrow.

I won't be ridden.
Tamed, nor broken.
My horses are gathering -
To remind me

I am at least one of each.