Forest calls, whispers here
Birds alight, and never fear
The hoof-beats tell the tale

Striding through, rarely seen
A man, a horse, and naught between
A bowshot proves the tale

The hoof-beats, yet no noise beside
No harness bells, no chains that slide
The sounds do prove the tale

A myth walks out of the woods
Kentaurus, noble blood, he broods
Over how he begins the tale

The bow slung over a mighty shoulder
I gasp aloud, but then grow bolder
I gulp, then go to meet the tale

He smiles at me, no myth at all
m dizzy with wonder, and almost fall
But the hand does prove the tale

He swings me up, O privileged me, alight
Perched aloft, speechless with delight
m ASTRIDE the tale!

01 September, 1999