Já postei, agora mais um...Rites of Passage
Something is taking place.
Horns bud bright in my hair.
My feet are turning hoof.
And Father, see my face
-Skin that was damp and fair
is barklike and, feel, rough.
See Graytop how I shine.
I rear, break loose, I neigh
snuffing the air, and harden
Toward a completion, mine.
And next I make my way
Adventuring through your garden.
My lay is earnest now.
I canter to and fro.
My blood, it is like light.
Behind an almond bough,
Horns gaudy with its snow,
I wait live, out of sight.
All planned before my birth
for you, Old Man, no other,
Whom your groin's trembling warns.
I stamp upn the earth
a message to my mother
and then I lower my horns.
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