A dedication to the Horse Lord

*I based this off of a Hungarian Ballad, in honor of my Horse Lord:


Your face as Red as a burning ember,

In the fires that smolder from January to late December.

The horse, the horseman, the coachman entice!

Whip that horse so that it may jump thrice!

I beg of you, just one glass of water to quench the thirst!

One glass, before I burst!

Nay,’ the Coachman says,  ‘I give you something divine –

Three glasses, of pure red wine.’

Onto the coach, and away in the night!

Silent roar, silence… No sound, no sight.

Away, gone, I be in the night’s sullen flood,

The wine becomes my pulse, my blood.

The world is blurred and the senses slur,

Things were not as they were.

I greet the newly coming, as they arrive as they do-

I bid farewell, to the leaving Ancestors too.

But do not get off the mount,’ I am told –

For you too will join the dead in their cold!

Faster goes the coach, the horses stampeding the air-

I was lost, yet I couldn’t care.

Crossing a crossroads I was knocked from my horse-

I fell, they thundered on their course…

Fear gripped me… What if I won’t return?

Would any of my kin light a candle to burn?

The wine takes me, into a shady sleep…

I fought it, but it’s hold held deep…

I slept beneath a tree, that grew nearby in the night,

With it’s apples, of purest white.

The wind chilled, and I shivered as I slipped,

Oh, too much wine I had sipped!

Awake at the next day’s rise,

I find to my surprise…

That my fingers are full of rocks, dirt, and soot –

Yet… I hadn’t moved… A single foot.

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