Description:
An armoured arm rests against a streaming flank.�?�The bold horseflesh he has to thank.�?�His chain-gloved hand caresses the mane.�?�He rests his sword, releases pain�?�And looks into that other world�?�Which opens when he stares�?�Into the amber orb of his mount's eye.�?�Do not give up, it seems to say,�?�I will bear you until the world's end and beyond.�?�You, my steed, you know my need.�?�You nuzzle me while here I bleed.�?�Without, from wounds in battles fought.�?�Within, as love's losses are hard taught.�?�My manners are those of the Knight Campaigner,�?�Savage in the fray, restrained off the field.�?�Many maidens are happy to have me as their champion,�?�But none give me their favour to wear,�?�Nor their hand to grace a pain-filled night.�?�It is the musk of days in the saddle�?�And not the sweet henna of her hair�?�That I smell.�?�Not knowing who "she" is�?�Or if she will ever be.�?�I was born displaced in time.�?�My soul belongs to an age�?�That finds only an echo here.
File size of the original picture:
225,08 KB
(1162 x 766 px)
Comments for this picture
There are not any comments for this picture yet.