By Pavel Chichikov
The rasping of an iron file on horn
The farrier looked up – ‘I know you all,
And as for you' – to me – ‘what took so long?'
The gelding stood beside him near a stall
It was a lengthy, warm room – golden straw
Piled up high in bales, it paved the floor –
There was a lantern lighting up the scene:
A golden cell, all dread outside the door
Safety, warmth – the farrier threw down
His rasp – he was a man of middle height,
Clean shaven with an ivory shock of hair
His face was brown and wrinkled – full of care
He wore a leather shirt, and on his sleeve
Were nails of some bright metal, fixed in place
Invisibly, they seemed to hang in air –
He could retrieve them freely, at his need
As we were soon to see, but now he paused
And dropped the hoof, long moments going by
Until at last he laughed (a hand against
The gelding's rump) with loud hilarity
At last he stopped: ‘You're safe for now, you three,
But Lightning here can only take one rider
Even if the rider's delicate –
That's the rule – but why, they don't tell me'
I and Robin had a single thought:
We could lift Flora up – she'd ride the horse –
The little girl would be our gift, survive
To tell the outer world we were alive
And maybe bring us rescue, or at least
She'd be a precious token, love released –
‘You hold the horse, I said, I'll put her on'
But when we looked the little one was gone!
‘I'm sure the child is close' I said, ‘I know
I took my eyes away, then instantly
Looked back again. She must be in the room'
The workman shrugged and said: ‘I don't think so…
The Shoulder of the Sun Part Fifteen will be featured tomorrow.
To visit Pavel Chichikov's website click *here*
