This I know from looking in your eyes -- your gentle hands
Have never liked the feel of whip-leather
And yet,
You could ride Tigers
And I can tell from poise and careful words
That saddle straps and bits and spurs
Are far beneath your skill.
Your skin and scent discourse and force a compromise
Finding diplomacy in danger, sympathy to savegery
With just a look
You could command Dragons
And face their Sturm and Drang unflinching,
Till the tantrum fire and lightning wore away to grudging silence,
A lowered head, and ruby eye opened to your
Patient reason.
Wolves walk at your heels,
And scent a mystery in your mastery
You, no player in their policies, seem still to take the prize
And when the grizzled Alpha tests your mettle ‘gainst his rank,
The contretemps is meaningless
And brief
When you sleep you pillow your head soft
Against the dark-starred flanks of leopards
Who purr their sphynx-like dreams into your eyes,
Which there remain after you wake
No Hercules, you -- No Aristotle.
No Lion of Nemedia draped empty on your shoulders,
Denoting stolen force,
Neither wilting laurels of blind men’s blind worship
You stand too tall for either
But Eagles sing your worth to Heaven’s vault,
And Sparrows light and laugh upon your shoulders,
Knowing you can live with me.