In the dawn of the world
women were given horses.
Creatures shaped from storm
and meadow.
Their hooves striking sparks
of freedom.
They rode not with reins,
but with whispers
their souls threading through
the breath of the beast
wildness answering wildness.
Love bloomed between them.
Not possession but devotion
a covenant older than language
sacred as the bond as mother
and child,
When a woman rides,
her spirit unfurls
and the horse becomes her
shadow,
her wings, her eternal
companion.
Mirror to My Soul by Heather Mirassou
A personal blog sharing heartfelt poetry inspired by nature, beauty, and soulful reflection.

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