MY HORSE

 I had a horse who fed on jasmine sprigs.

A horse indeed: arabian, handsome, brisk.

When cantering or galloping he sweated golden rivers

and the sweat gave off a perfume that made dizzy 

the whole airspace the whole sun.

He munched on any jasmine shrubs around,

flowers for him were as delicious

as apples or sugar lumps.

The kids made fun of my horse'

scented neighs and withers.

His droppings freshened the ambiance so good

that the mayor ordered never to clean them up.

All was running smoothly till one day my girlfriend

took a shine to my stallion. They fell in love.

They ran away.

Six months after the elopement I received a postcard

from Glasgow. She appeared in the picture

dressed up as a  famous jokey riding my horse. She smiled.

I wept rivers when I saw him

eating jasmine petals out of her hands.