His Horn

When at first she saw him she saw an equine
all shining beautiful and gentle of himself
he seemed a darling life in that tide of pollen
not worthy of his delicate hoofs:
the strutting tail flowed even to the ground,
and his mane had been arranged
by the loving hand of mother nature
But, bursting from his tranquil brow
Springing like a lily white to a longed for height
Or a fountain bright spurting light of early mourn
Was a luminous horn!