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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Sunday, March 2, 2014

She Rides

She heard the hoof beats and she thought of stripes
Imagination conjured up the rare
For all her life she was one of those types
Accomplished what the others did not dare

So with proud peacock flumes tucked in her hair
She rides a zebra through the azure night
She knows that life is more than black and white.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, FB Fridays, Rhyme Royal and WT Benda