26 June 2012
He rode in on a stallion, With hair as dark as night, A grey-eyed, pale-skinned mystery, Who seemed to bend the light.
Hoof-beats thrumming rhythmically, Plumes of breath in cold, A rapier strapped to his left hip, And every girl was sold.
The milkmaids gossiped endlessly, The men looked on with doubt, And of the dark-haired mystery, They saw no sigh nor shout.
As soon as he was here he left, Quickly taken flight, A whisper of a memory, A shadow in the night.
Dark-Haired. • Opuss № I