MY HORSE

 I had a horse who fed on jasmine sprigs.

A horse indeed: arabian, handsome, brisk.

When galloping golden rills of sweat

gave off a perfume dizzying up

the whole moors under a fickle sun.

He munched on any jasmine shrubs

this flowers for him were as delicious

as apples or sugar lumps.

The kids used to make fun of my horse

droppings that smell so good...

the mayor issued an order of never 

to sweep them up.

All was running perfect until one day

when my girlfriend took a shine to my stallion. 

They fell in love. They ran away. 

They eloped.

Six months after 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 for him so elated eating

 jasmine petals out of her hands.