F W Finney


Cotswold Trails


She's riding English
(walk, trot, canter, gallop) .
I watch her hair whip her shoulders;
the look on her face- dentist's mouth,
sweat racing tears,
the dust rising near her knees
as she pulls on the reins-
fingernails carving, thighs trembling.
I was born to die her saddle.

Submitted: Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, February 11, 2014

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

This poem first appeared in Candelabrum Poetry Magazine, Volume VII, Numbers 5 & 6 (page 10) . Published by The Red Candle Press, Wisbech, Cambridges, United Kingdom.

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